Cover Me
by hellsdescent
Summary: James Novak Sr. is a successful businessmen who took in a child of the system to impress and situate his standing in the eyes of the media. When the son he renamed after himself starts to dismiss his authority, he enlists his son into The Initiative, a six week program created by the USMC to discipline teens. It's there he meets Dean Winchester...and everything changes.
1. I

This whole thing was a complete waste of time. But James's parents were in no mood for excuses. This was the last straw for them. He had gone too far this time and there was no way they were going to let him talk his way out of it.

He stared out the back window of his fathers SUV, silently saying goodbye to Crosswood Drive. Not that he liked this neighborhood to begin with...but there was no doubt he wouldn't be coming back here for a long time. The music from his phone was enough to drown out all sound and effectively distract him from the frequent glances of his parents through the mirror.

He wasn't really named James Novak like they had changed it to be. They weren't really his parents, and maybe that contributed to why he truly didn't take to doing either of them any favors. It wasn't for attention or for amusement.

James just _really_ didn't give a damn.

His father was a businessman, well on his way to becoming one of the most successful. His mother...a housewife. His adopted father was too named James Novak. He was pretty sure his adoption had something to do with having someone else carry on the family legacy in law enforcement.

To do that, however...he would need to start behaving. Him being chosen probably also had to do with the fact that he looked at least somewhat like his father. Unlike him, he liked to keep his black hair semi-combed and flat...whereas James Novak the First liked to overuse gel and slick his dark locks all the way back. It would have been believable, even the pale skin tone being the same...had it not been for the eyes that were a dead giveaway. The father had brown eyes...and James had dark blue eyes. Didn't help that his foster mother had green eyes.

He was a late adoption, being more than aware of his lonely situation and that these people were more than likely doing this to achieve extra on their tax return every year. It didn't help that the word 'delinquent' was being used to describe him more and more these days. So what if he wore predominantly black? So what if he may or may not have been present when the principal had a bucket of milk dumped on him Monday morning? It didn't mean he did it. Besides...milk was good for you.

Dark blue eyes finally had enough of the stern gazes he was getting through the mirror and he consented to pulling at least one headphone from his ear.

"Is there a problem?" James asked, his tone coming out slightly clipped.

His father was the one to respond. "As a matter of fact, yes there is. Your mother and I would appreciate if you took this situation a little more seriously. This is a life changing thing, James."

James just shrugged his shoulders in a careless sort of way and went about looking out the window. They were arriving. The shopping district had changed to government buildings. He had never been on this side of town before. And he had hoped he would never have to be.

Then there was _that_ building that was...what shaped like a trapezoid? It was forest green with the largest American flag James had ever seen on the flagpole. As his father turned into the parking lot, James felt his anxiety spike up a little. He could see several formations of cadets marching with rifles wearing camouflage. He could see others in PT training, scaling walls with rope...and then digging through barbed wire trenches.

This place was going to suck.

They approached a building with a smaller flag that had no cars in front of it. His parents exited first while James lingered in the back seat to just stare at this place...the place he was going to be calling home for...well from what he figured? Indefinitely.

Well, there was no sense in delaying the inevitable. James looked over the worn black backpack of essentials next to him. He slung it over his shoulder and climbed out of the car half-heartedly, following the taller forms towards the entrance. Inside was fairly simple...if a little shabby .The walls were an awful tan color with chipping wallpaper. All these cadets and not once to spruce this place up? The carpet matched the wallpaper with an ugly old color that James didn't even like stepping on. They stepped into an office where a man with brown hair and glasses was sitting, pouring over some kind of document. When he looked up, he smiled in a friendly way, standing up to greet them.

"Nice to meet you, Mrs. Novak. I'm happy to meet the two of you. I'm Staff Sergeant Samuel Winchester. And this...must be James."

Sam's eyes went to the teenager who lowered into the third seat beside his parents, flashing him a defiant look when the Sergeant looked his way. He was evaluating him, James knew. From head to toe...from the black clothing to to the unruly hair and choice tattoos on his wrists showing several black lightning bolts. They weren't professionally done, but they were still permanent. He had done them on himself somehow...and it looked like he at least knew what he was doing somewhat with a pen.

"He's in good hands here. You won't have to worry about a thing. I can tell you with absolute certainty that this program has a hundred percent success rate."

Both parents looked to one another with impressed looks. James had to refrain from rolling his eyes. He had a feeling showing disrespect this early in the game was going to result in laps...or push ups. It was too late in the afternoon to start working out randomly.

His 'mother ' spoke up finally. "Sergeant...I know we're late coming in to this...but we really want the best for James. It's not easy for us, you realize. To part with him so easily. And for so long."

"I can promise you'll feel much better after the six weeks are over, Mrs. Novak."

It seemed to appease her, because she stood up the next second and her husband followed suit. James remained sitting, not wanting to look at either of them. It didn't stop her from reaching down to place her hands on his face and pull him closer for a kiss to the top of the head. He made a grunting noise as she pulled away. His father approached, probably torn between doing the same thing and settling on just gripping James's shoulder tightly before leaving with her.

And just like that...they were gone. The life he knew for whatever amount of time. He felt disgusted...by them..by the high school for even having this ridiculous program...by everyone, really. Even this annoying Staff Sergeant looking down at him.

"I have you assigned to a platoon. All activities have ceased for the day. They all do after five pm. I'll show you to your barracks. We can talk outside. Come on."

Sam was a little serious, but not what James expected out of a Staff Sergeant. He expected to be yelled at. A lot. _All the time._

When James stood, he realized that this man...was essentially a giant. He must have been like seven or eight feet. Maybe he was internally exaggerating just a bit...but seriously. Did this guy live on all plant diet? Probably. He had a temptation to ask...but sliding in with the reputation of a smart ass _probably_ wasn't the best way to go.

Sam started leading the way out of the building where the afternoon breeze felt nice...and the overall surroundings, even at this dismal place looked good. It was the artist in him that enjoyed the view of the orange sunset past the flagpole where some kid about his age was struggling to pull the strings to make the flag lower. When he saw Sam approach, he immediately snapped a salute and went back to what he was doing before.

Sam only glanced towards James a few times to make sure he was still following him.

"We have certain expectations for you while you're here. Everything we require of you...we require you to do to the very _best_ of your ability. If there's a doubt that you didn't give it your all, then you're doing it wrong. Be respectful to your squad...be respectful to your commanding officer...and you'll do fine here. I wasn't lying to your parents when I told them that this program has a hundred percent success rate. I know you're here for a reason. Everyone is. Some by complete individual choice and some because they had to. Whatever your story is...whatever fear you have...put it to the back of your mind. Fear isn't something that's going to be tolerated for long."

James supposed the words were pretty ominous. There was a warning in them, and he felt too mentally exhausted to actually argue him. He kind of just wanted to go to sleep. Even though it was only a little past six. As he expected, when they entered the barracks with lines and lines of metal bunk beds, it was empty. James balked at the prospect of having someone on either side of him and above him at all times and prayed for a corner bed.

"You will address me as 'Sir' or Staff Sergeant at all times. Do you understand?"

"Yes, sir."

Luck wasn't on his side and Sam led him to a bed right in the middle of the barracks and opened up a chest at the end of it to take out a duffel bag that James guessed would hold all of his essentials. Wherever the rest of the platoon was...he didn't want to be spotted. And he was definitely not looking to wake up at the crack of dawn. So he shoved off his backpack, stuffed it under his bed and laid down on his side. All he could really do was hope that the worst wouldn't happen tomorrow...in the morning when he would probably be woken to trumpet.

Perhaps it was his mental exhaustion that made sleep actually easier. He woke to light filtering into the barracks from the door. Not early bird sunshine either...More like ten o'clock sunshine. How the hell? He overslept? How was that even possible? James sat up as fast as he could, giving himself a quick second to collect himself from a daze. The beds all around him...They all looked...untouched. Come to think of it...he slept throughout the night...he figured just the first night sleeping in a bed that wasn't one he was used to would have him a little more...aware of his surroundings. Wouldn't he have heard them?

Was this the wrong goddamn barrack?

Either way, James scrambled towards the bathroom, grabbing the duffel Staff Sergeant had given him. Quickly he changed into a white t-shirt, camouflage pants consisting of blue, green and brown colors and black boots. He was still tucking in his shirt into his pants when he stepped outside, still finding nothing really around him. No formations...no shouting drill instructor. Nothing. All he saw was a little tented area where two recruits were playing cards. He made for them, figuring it was his best chance.

As he grew closer, he saw what they looked like. One was a man with sun kissed skin and dark brown hair that James only saw peeking through his hat which he had on backwards. He was also wearing sunglasses. A very casual look...not one James was expecting at all to see around here. He must have been here for a while, past all of nightmare training maybe? He could have been in his mid twenties. He was wearing a black t-shirt in contrast to James's white one.

The other man was of darker complexion, wearing his hat correctly, but occasionally taking it off to rub the sweat off off his face which quickly reaccumulated. He couldn't blame him. It was like a desert out here. He, unlike the first male was not so casual. He didn't even look up when James approached, too focused on the card game that seemed to be reaching some intense level.

"You're a cheatin' shit," The first male muttered. James heard a faint southern drawl.

The other man chuckled. "Not really. Just skilled. You don't have a poker face. Too easy to read."

"Meh...Best two out of three. C'mon. Shuffle."

James started tentatively. "Scuse me..."

They ignored him. The second man responding to the order. "...Man. I got shit to do today. More shit to do than sit here and play cards with you."

"Play it, Gordon or it's your ass."

It was then that the other man, the one addressed as Gordon noticed James, looking over his shoulder at him. "...More reason why I need to head out."

The one with the sunglasses followed his gaze to James...from head to toe. His eyebrow raised high over the lens. "Can I help you with somethin'?"

"Yeah...I'm looking for the squad...or...uh platoon. Not good with the terms yet...the one that's in this barracks I just came out of," James nodded behind him to the empty building.

The man was a bit answering, reaching into his pocket and digging out a toothpick that he stuck between his teeth. "...You running late?"

"Maybe...I...didn't hear anything last night,"

Gordon scoffed. "That's cause the platoon never returned. One of their members failed a spec. They're over there at Block D...Cleaning out Platoon 47's barracks from top to bottom. They're not leaving until it's done."

He nodded off in the direction of another distant barrack house and sighed. So much for things being easy.

"Thanks for letting me know. I'll head out."

James began to move away but then the man with the sunglasses stood up. "Naw. You don't need to head off alone. I'm going in that direction. I'll come with you. "

He handed all his cards back to Gordon who shuffled and put away the deck while the other male came level to James. He wasn't freakishly tall like Staff Sergeant was. He was still tall though. As he came close, James smelled strong...expensive smelling cologne. Even in all this heat...it masked or took over any other body scents...and James found he find of enjoyed the scent.

Wait...what? He was staring too long. Looking at the man's toned chest that the black tee was hinting at underneath. He liked the sharp cut of the v-neck, where he could see a small bit of sweat slicked skin. All this had James fighting the temptation to run his hand down it. He swallowed, feeling a surge of heat that had nothing to do with the sun. _This was why he was here_ , he had to remind himself. Cause he thought with other...parts of him...rather than his head.

"Thanks," said James.

The man nodded. "What's your name?"

"James. Novak."

"I'm Dean."

They shook hands. His grip was firm, calloused and rough. Definitely not a rookie himself. If he was part of a platoon that was cleaning out another barracks, what was he doing out here? He started to walk with him. The man was over a head taller than him. If they stood face to face again, he'd do that ridiculous tall people thing that they liked to do. What better word for it than...eh... _loom._

"So you were just taking a break, huh?" James asked.

"Takin' a break. Sounded like you were takin' a nap."

"I just got here yesterday."

Dean eyed him up and down once again."...I can see that."

What did that mean? James changed the subject. "So you're part of the program too?"

"What program is that?"

"The one on that...colorful brochures — _pamphlet_ that my step parents received. The  US Marine Initiative. You're in that too?"

Dean twiddled the toothpick between his lips in response. "Something like that. Sergeant over there is a real pain in the ass. Real hostile motherfucker."

 _Great._

"Oh yeah?"

"He's from Texas. I heard he sleeps with three rattlesnakes."

"Jesus. That sounds...unsanitary and insane."

"He's a fuckin' crazy."

In this light, James could see that there was a huge lined scar on Dean's cheek. It looked like it came from a blade or a very expensive ring. It was an imperfection, James noted...yet not one that hindered his overall appearance.

When they finally entered, there were the people that James was looking for. Each recruit was on their hands and knees, scrubbing the floor...not with buckets of water and soap...or sponges...but with toothbrushes. Yup. Toothbrushes. As James entered, each and every single one of them jumped off the floor, gathered into formation as fast as he'd ever see it( less than five seconds) and saluted him.

Well...that was a quick jump to the top. He looked behind him for Dean and saw the man lagging a little behind James where he was pulling on a jacket over his shirt. It was then that James really noticed the insignia on his shoulder. It hadn't been on his shoulder...and it wasn't on any of the other men here. It was a symbol that had a few yellow arches over a red shape. He adjusted his hat to face front and removed his sunglasses revealing sharp green eyes.

 _Jesus Christ_ , he was the Sergeant.

"Platoon 88!" Dean's voice rang out and there was a snap behind James where he knew they had all stiffened into 'attention'. "Meet your new bunkmate! Cadet Novak!"

Dean's eyes never left James as he moved to approach. There was something amused in his eyes as he slid past him, their shoulders brushing. His hands were interlocked behind him. He kept James in his sight until he had no choice but to face forward and eye the other recruits.

"Seems to me that Private Novak got all the sheep he needed last night while the rest of you were still cleanin' up here. Move out, 88. Get your R&R 'til I say so. Private Novak here...is gonna pick up where ya'll left off."

 _Asshole_.Why did James think he was attractive before? Something about that smug smile on his face was so...goddamn irritating. But he was handed off a blackened toothbrush and it took a lot of willpower not to just snatch it.

Dean slid the toothpick to rest on side of his mouth, still smiling at James. "Get to work, _pretty boy._ "


	2. II

James was mentally cursing himself for this. Hating that he was here...hating that his knees were hurting like hell after only fifteen minutes of scrubbing. He was left like this. The entire platoon had filed out the moment Dean — _Sergeant —_ gave the order. This whole notion of cleaning the barracks...with a goddamn toothbrush...it was _ridiculous._ How was this supposed to make it look cleaner? Especially when his given tool was already so dirty.

All James was left with was the noise of the bristles of the toothbrush scratching the ground as he made continuous circular motions.

Platoon 88, his platoon had not even bothered to pick up after themselves, leaving their own cleaning supplies everywhere. He could hear the Sergeant and Gordon laughing outside among the noise of other platoons performing drills. It was just an irritating situation all around.

By the end of it, James's knees were aching in pain...there was sheet of sweat forming over his body that was hard to ignore. All this...for what? Sleeping in a bed? How the hell was he supposed to know that the rest of the platoon had fucked up somewhere and was undergoing punishment? He mentally cursed the Sergeant over and over in his head.

With nothing but his thoughts to occupy him, James wished the time would go by a little faster. It felt like he had been doing this for hours. And the irony was that no matter how hard he scrubbed with the goddamn toothbrush, it didn't do a damn thing to the floor. This was just something done on principle. He could bet the officers would use the excuse of 'building character' as the reason. Not like they'd probably share with him.

The position of the sun hardly changing at all since he started let James know that not enough time had passed.

"How you holdin' up?"

For a moment, James thought the Sergeant had walked in...but it wasn't him. It was young man about his age with light brown hair with bright blue eyes and a similar build to his own. He was wearing a t-shirt like James was except his had black lettering on the shoulder reading 88 in bold letters.

"Don't think I'm supposed to have any help doing this," James pointed out, pausing for a few seconds, before continuing the motions.

"Naw, I know...but you looked like you could use some company. Kind of dangerous to be left alone with only your thoughts around here."

"...I see where you're coming from," said the guy with the most venomous mind in the corp at this moment.

"I'm Scott. Most people so far have been calling me by my last name. Balthazar. You're the new guy."

"Right, my name is James. Guess I'll be known as Novak in my time here."

"Or something worse," said Balthazar, stepping more inside the barracks to take a seat on the end of a bed near James's current position.

"So what exactly did you guys fail to make you...uh...have to clean this barracks up all night? I'm only late to the program by one day. What could possibly happen the first day?"

"You really wanna know?" When James just nodded, Balthazar sighed. "He gathered us all around in formation...The Sergeant. Y'know. That sweet guy you met on the way here. It was some kind of practice to give us a taste of what we were facing. Just basically had all the instructors in the batallion come around to yell in our faces I guess. One of the guys from Troop 88 was instructed to hold up their duffel bag by the strap with one hand outstretched without flinching for one minute...and I guess he...flinched."

James's eyebrows shot up. "You're kidding? He made you guys use toothbrushes to clean a fucking barrack for...naturally reacting?"

Balthazar just shook his head a bit. "Sergeant's just kind of..."

"Sociopathic?"

"I wouldn't say that...but he's definitely something."

James scoffed. "It's one hell of a way to spend your first day."

"You're telling me. Listen, you want me to get you some water? You're gonna need to keep hydrated if you keep up that position for too long."

"Tha-"

His word of gratitude was interrupted by the sound of the Sergeant calling out to James from the outside.

"Private Novak! I hope you ain't dead in there! Get the hell out here and fall in with your platoon!"

 _This_ guy again.

James placed both hands flat on the floor and used it to apply pressure for his stand. Not that he lasted long, his knees starting to collapse within seconds. He barely caught the metal bar at the end of a nearby bed to stop from falling face first. An audible curse slid through his lips as he started walking towards the door. He wouldn't allow himself to show weakness to the others.

It took supreme effort to keep his walk straight and though his new companion looked at him with concern, he didn't look to him for help. Once they were outside, the platoon was in perfect formation, missing two spots at the left end. He spotted the Sergeant quickly, standing at the front, surveying the group in perfect stillness with his hands behind his back. James and Balthazar were quick to go for their designated spots.

Everyone was hardly moving. James mimicked the stance as best as he could, keeping his feet together and hands down at his sides.

There was a moment of silence before the Sergeant took a few steps forward.

"It seems we missed out on introductions yesterday. My _name_ is Sergeant Dean Johnathan Winchester. I have served the Marine Corp for over six years. Y'all met the _stunningly_ handsome gentleman when you came in that shares my surname. That would be my brother, Staff Sergeant Winchester. Until I say otherwise, however...you will address me either sir or Sergeant. Is that clear? _"_

 _"Sir, yes, sir!"_

Definitely a country boy. The Sergeant had a tendency to enunciate his "-er's" and "-y's" like an "-eh" or "-ah". Not that James was _trying_ to notice that sort of thing...or that it mattered at all. Sergeant started to pace in a line in front of the first row.

"At ease, platoon. You all have been drafted as part of a special program released by this Division known as _The Initiative._ Providing troubled youth with the structured, disciplined environment they need to learn in order to make yourselves fit for society."

He stopped pacing to smil at all of them. He was reciting the ridiculous pamphlet.

"Now...my superior officers believe that this is a necessary program to put an end to disruptive activity on your surroundings. To put it on dummy terms for you, kids...you are all fuck-ups. Take a look to your left and your right. You are lookin' at a class-a fuck up like yourself."

"...Success in this program will induct you fully into the service of the United States Marine Corp. Failure...will obviously not. My brother has tendency, unfortunately...to exaggerate. He likes to use percentages to persuade. He may have said this program has a hundred percent success rate. It does...for those who **commit.** So I'm leaving the table open for any body who believes that they should be elsewhere at this moment in time."

Sergeant stopped right in the middle of his line, looking left and right at each recruit. He nodded to himself. "That's what I like to hear. Now...You are in the recieving week. You will be sent to in-processing for medical evaluation, uniform and gear issue. Tomorrow begins...week one. Let's see how many of you survive week one."

It was really irritating how the Sergeant seemed to linger his gaze on James when he finished that sentence, like he fully anticipated to grade James with an F. Maybe he was just seeing things...but there was a hint of that cocky smile he saw before.

"When I give the command to fall out, you fall out to building 5268. FALL OUT!"

The formation broke apart and each one of them began jogging towards a central building among the barracks. James had no choice but to follow suit. He was glad to see Balthazar lingering behind so he could run alongside him.

"Jeez...being in one position so long..."

Balthazar chuckled. "Get used to it. Think we're gonna be doing a lot of that."

James just shook his head and entered the building. It was a mistake to lag behind on both of their parts. They weren't the only platoon about to go through in-processing. There was five lines, each one ending near where Balthazar and James had entered.

James scoffed. "That guy's taking some liberties. I figured in-processing first...and then we get assigned a platoon."

"Guess being the Staff Sergeant's brother gives you a certain freedom," Balthazar whispered back.

"It sure as hell does."

The voice made them both flinch as the Sergeant emerged behind them. He flashed the two of them a crooked smile before venturing further inside. The two of them watched as he disappeared among various curtain divider stands where the medical evals were being conducted. Balthazar and James took their place in one of the middle lines, waiting as they went one by one. Sometimes the stretch between walking that few steps was long...sometimes it was short.

There was no way to get an accurate reading on what the hell was going on. It just seemed like another forever when it was finally Balthazar's turn ahead of him. He gave his companion a pat on the back and watched him disappear behind the curtain, seeing only his silhouette. He had to stand at a distance, so no snippets of conversation were caught.

And then it was his turn and he went through the curtain. There was a tired looking woman with curly black hair sitting at a desk and in front of her there was a mat with a chair on it. She looked up when James walked in and her bored expression melted into one of mild amusement.

"Well..look at you. I think I might have to cancel all my afternoon appointments."

James looked taken aback and she continued to stare at him. Then she clicked her pen for ink and poured over an empty eval sheet.

"Ahem...Let's get started, shall we? Just answer the questions to the best of your ability."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Full name?"

"James Novak."

"Age?"

"Eighteen."

"Any other languages spoken besides English?"

"No."

The questions continued for a bit. Just basic information. Eventually, she stood up and approached James with a flashlight to check into his eyes, his tongue and his ears. It was only when she came from around her desk holding a stethoscope did she have to pause.

"Sergeant Masters! Are you done in there?"

The woman - Sergeant Masters just rolled her eyes and kept looking to James, nodding towards the chair on the mat. James sat down as the Sergeant attempted to call attention again.

"Hey — ! I said... _what_ is takin' so goddamn long?" He was growing closer and closer with every word then the back curtain was pushed aside to reveal Sergeant Winchester. He slowed his motion when he realized who it was sitting in the chair then he fully entered and approached the recruit. James felt a stutter in his chest at the sight of him, grateful that Sergeant Masters wasn't using her stethoscope on him now.

"Actually," Masters glanced his way. "You asked if I was done. _Not_ what was taking so long. This is the last one. I think. Right?"

"Yes...ma'am," said James slowly.

"Novak," Sergeant Winchester smirked. "Private, you are holdin' everybody up. Do you realize that?"

"Yes, sir."

"Sergeant Masters, you are dismissed. I will finish this evaluation."

Sergeant Masters's eyebrows shot up and she stared at the man for a long time, but he remained unmoving, never breaking his gaze from James. She just sighed and began to pack up, shruggling slightly as she left the way the man had come in.

"Private Novak, stand up."

James, who was already tensed on the seat, immediately shot up when Sergeant gave the order, resorting to the attention stance from before. The Sergeant's stare was sharp on James, hardly blinking. It was a gaze nothing short of piercing.

Sergeant began to circle James, his gaze set forward, drawn away. "Is there any medical illnesses we need to be made aware of, Private?"

"No, sir."

"Any drugs in your system?"

"Sir?"

"Prescriptions."

"...No, sir."

 _Damn it._ He paused too long.

The moment the Sergeant was before him again, he raised a hand and pressed two fingers to James's neck. The sudden contact made James flinch just a little. But there was no pressure applied to the touch. The fingertips felt cold...or maybe there was just _too much_ blood pumping there. Whichever.

He dropped his hand and turned sideways. "Have you ever been in a fight, Private?"

"...Sir?"

"A fight, private. Have you ever taken a punch?"

"...No, sir."

The Sergeant smirked again, nodding once like he was confirming some internal thought. He faced James fully, looming over him in that annoying way. His eyebrows were furrowed and he raised his fingers to rub over his chin.

"You know what I think, Novak? I think you're lyin' to me. Not just on one of my questions. All of 'em. You have a medical illness. A stutter in your heart. A murmur. That stutter is very... _prevalent_ among other signs when you are untruthful. You must be on some kind of prescription to produce blood cells. And as for my last question..."

Sergeant closed the very small distance between them in half a step, barely a few inches from James as he leaned down and very slowly peeled back James's shirt collar by a few centimeters. He would have visibly shied away then, knowing what the Sergeant would find there...but he was frozen on the spot.

Sergeant Winchester traced over the faint purple bruise on James's shoulder. The recruit shuddered at the contact, inhaling sharply.

"Anemia does not favor bruise visibility, Private," The Sergeant murmured. He stepped back and interlocked his hands behind him as James scowled. The Sergeant was not...provoking him, yet James's defenses were stacked high.

"Do you know what this information tells me, Private Novak?"

"...No, sir."

"It means that you are incapable of lying, Private Novak."

 _Yeah. To **you.**_

A long moment passed between them. The Sergeant's face was unreadable, his eyes hooded. This was it. The moment he was going to be kicked out and sent back home in disgrace.

"...I will be mindful in sendin' you on any deep or under cover objectives, Private."

James froze again, unable to fully comprehend what the Sergeant had said...and the ease in which he said it. He could only just watch as the superior officer took a step back. His lips spread to reveal a cheeky smile before he spun around and walked through the divider.

"Sergeant Matthews! Finish up!"

The woman reappeared again. She threw James an exasperated look before gesturing him to sit again. She was holding something that made James bite back a scowl. An electric razor.

"Congratulations, Private. You're about through with In-Processing. Hope you're ready for Hell Week...or rather..weeks."


	3. III

It was the habit of the Sergeants, after hours to stay indoors and sit around chatting or playing games. Usually they went out to the nearby bars and got hammered. The weather was slated to be stormy the following day...so Dean and Gordon stayed in, playing cards in silence.

The TV was stationed in the corner, playing CNN on low volume with neither of the two sergeants inside paying any attention to it. The only real sound came was the sound of thunder in the distance to signal the coming storm...and the sound of cards as they hit the table in front of the two men.

Gordon had had enough, deciding to break the silence and over-concentrated look of his companion.

"You gonna tell me what's going on with you, or do I have to address the fact that you've had three losing hands so far?"

Dean glanced at him then went back to looking at his cards. "Nothin's wrong."

"Uh huh. Sure. C'mon, Dean. It's not like you to be completely silent during these things. Even when you're losing. You're usually groaning and moaning about something."

Dean just shook his head, shut his eyes for a long moment. He set his cards face down on the table and stood up, turning his back to Gordon as he approached the window.

"One of my recruits from the Initiative...Something's...Something's wrong with em'," Dean expelled a frustrated breath.

"No offense," Gordon raised a hand. "But isn't that the goal of the Initiative? To make something out of troubled young adults? Emphasis on the troubled."

"Yeah...It is," Dean glanced in Gordon's direction briefly. "...But this is different."

"In what way?"

Dean was a long time answering, his eyebrows creasing in frustration. "...I've been in the military my whole life...even before I officially enlisted. My dad used to bring my brother and I to this base. I haven't seen a lick of war...just preparin' for it. I was there when the soldiers started comin' home from the Middle East. I was there to see each one of em'. Every single one had a look...I'd never forget."

"...Like what?" Gordon asked.

The Sergeant traced his lower lip. "...Like some part...some fragment deep inside their soul...had left. Had died...had stayed in the battlefield, swallowed away. Never to be seen again. Even to this day...I can't shake off what I saw...what I still see something see in the senior officers."

"Dean, I don't understand," Gordon admitted. "I don't know what this has to do with you recruit."

"I saw the same thing in his eyes...Like something inside had broken."

Gordon was silent as he took this in, then he too stood up to face Dean's back. "...All those kids are troubled, Dean. That's why we're trying to help them. Cramming twelve weeks of training into six."

Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and attempted to massage an ache forming away from his head. He walked towards his bed and dug into the chest at the end, taking out a manilla folder that he wordlessly handed to Gordon. The other Sergeant just rose an eyebrow before taking the folder back to his seat and opening it up. His eyes swiveled across the first page, his eyes widening just a bit as he read on.

"Is this...Is this for real?" Gordon asked, recieving a nod from Dean. "Four suicide attempts in two years?"

"Look at the pictures," Dean prompted. The other man turned a few more pages and then openly shuddered at the sight of said pictures. It was just of James Novak's chest taken on a hospital bed. There was several deep red lash marks...several purple bruises on his stomach all the way up to his neck. All in places that were not visible when one wore clothing. All done by someone else.

Gordon was appalled. "Why the hell is this all in his personnel files?"

"The father," Dean answered, smiling wryly. "James Novak the First. You probably know the name. He's got his hands in a lot of big businesses. Bruce Wayne of the modern world."

Gordon scoffed. " Didn't know we had the son of a celebrity in our ranks."

"He's adopted."

"Still," Gordon closed the file and slid it towards Dean. "...You know I'm sure that all of those recruits have their own stories. They wouldn't be here if they didn't. Why is this one bothering you so much?"

Dean didn't have an answer for him. He took his cards off the table. "...Let's just get back to the game."

* * *

The next morning had the sound of trumpets blaring outside the recruit barracks. There were loud shouts of the Sergeants from the outside coming in. James nearly fell off his bed when he heard how close they were...and looking around, he knew he wasn't the only one out of Platoon 88 that felt like he had a rude awakening from a coma.

They were all ordered to dress and get in formation outside in two minutes. There was loud scrambling as everyone moved to follow the command. James haphazardly pulled on clothes and followed the rest of the platoon. As soon as they cleared the doorway, James felt cold wet raindrops hit his newly bald head. The wind was harsh and chilly...and it was still dark outside. It had to be night time, or the storm clouds were just covering the sun entirely.

As James squinted through the rain, he spotted the Sergeant in front of them. It was not Winchester...but another man. Someone new...someone older. He wore a high crown hat unlike the others. He must have been a higher rank than any they had seen so far.

Like Sergeant Winchester however, he too had a southern accent, speaking over the sound of the pouring rain.

"Listen up, ladies! Today begins the first day of PT training! My name is Second Lieutenant Bishop. I do not give a _damn_ what your name is...nor do I plan on findin' out who any of you are. You are given an order by me...you better make sure you see it through."

His eyes scanned over all of them and then he stepped to the side. James envied the fact that he was wearing a rain coat for cover. But he saw what he should have been looking at a minute too late. Behind him, there was no clear field that they had been on just yesterday. There was a several new obstructions. It took James a moment to realize it was an obstacle course.

There was two large twelve foot wood walls with three ropes hanging off and reaching the ground...then there was rows of tires put together to jump through...and finally there was a very long and high set of bars that they were to climb.

"The best recorded time on this course is three minutes and thirty seven seconds!" Bishop called out. "My expectation from each and every one of you is to beat that record or you will match it! You will repeat this course consecutively until that is done. There will be no water breaks...there will be no rest until _I_ say so. If I have to keep any of you out here until the peak hours of tomorrow morning, I will do so. Is that understood?!"

There was a resounding chorus of 'Yes, sir!' that James half-heartedly joined. Was this guy serious? Yes...Yes he was. Because a few moments later, he was having them all get in four lines of seven. James was only somewhat reprieved that Balthazar was in his line, just ahead of him.

"He's asking for the impossible," James murmured.

"I know...How are we supposed to do better after the first try if we get tired?"

"I don't know,"

Bishop had positioned himself ahead of the lines, holding up a stopwatch. As the first four got into position, he plucked a whistle from around his neck and blew into it to signal the start. The first four raced towards the wall blockade and began to - or attempt to - scale to the top. He could hear Bishop yelling over the sound of the storm.

"Come on! Move it! Get your asses up that wall! This isn't play time. Wake the fuck up!"

Anxiety caused a tightening in James's chest. He was never athletic. He always sat out for gym...and barely had time to excercise aside from a few runs he did recreationally after school on certain days. There was no way he was going to beat the time of 3:37.

The first recorded time was 3:32, with the recruit jogging from the last bars to stand to the side where a few others began to join him. How were they doing this in the pouring rain...and fresh out of bed?

He felt a pang of jealousy at watching Balthazar's run. The young man had no problem getting over the wall, even having time to throw his fist up in the air for victory before he was easily leaping through the tire obstacle and expertly climbing through the bars. His recorded time was perfect, just shy of two seconds from the record that Bishop wanted them to beat.

Then came James's turn.

He approached the wood blockade with great apprehension, just staring all the way to the top where the clouds lit up with a bolt of lightning in a foreboding sort of way. He inhaled deeply, expelled a short breath and heard Bishop shout at him. The other three who were in the run with him had already begun climbing.

"Hurry up, private!"

Yeah, his voice wasn't helping. James started to climb the rope that was in front of him, using it as a support. Even then, when he managed to climb up to the top, he was faced with the daunting prospect of jumping down from the other side.

Why wasn't there a rope on this side?

The prospect of falling...coupled with James's overwhelming fear of heights...yeah this was just not a good situation. But the clock was ticking as Bishop was consistently reminding him, whether it was verbally or by gesturing to his stopwatch.

James already knew he wasn't going to pass this course. He knew as soon as he made the jump down and instead of landing gracefully, he hit the ground on his side. The pain was instantaneous...and he knew he was adding a bruise to all of his side on top of all the others he had.

Bishop was not done with him, just appearing on the other side to leer down at him.

"You done fuckin' around, boy? Get up! Get the hell up, Private. I gave you an order. You get up off that ground right now."

James struggled to do as he was told and not just remain motionless in the cold wet mud. He placed both hands flat and stood again, nursing his side as he made his way towards the next obstacle. The tires were almost flawlessly done, except on the last one, he felt a sharp sting in his ankle and lingered too long in the tire, forcing him to the ground.

He knew there was no time...that there was almost no point in finishing the course. It had to be over five minutes now. But Bishop didn't give a damn. As he said earlier...just didn't give a damn. Once again, he was hovering over James as he put up a great struggle this time in getting back to his feet. Halfway up, he crumbled and groaned, flattening once more.

Of course Bishop didnt like that, coming close to kick James in the stomach. The force hurt more than anything. What, were those boots made of steel? He doubled over on his side, clutching his stomach with both hands, feeling something sour burn on his tongue.

Another kick.

"Get up! Get the hell up! WEAK. You are WEAK. Get up, Private!"

Another kick. Blood burst through James's lips before he could stop it. He brought his knees up to his stomach in an attempt to shield himself. It didn't deter the Lieutenant who placed his hands flat on the blockade for support, preparing an assaulting barrage of kicks.

But he was stopped, the hits never came. James chanced a glance to see another figure above him and a familiar voice was heard.

"That's quite enough, Lieutenant," Sergeant Winchester's hand was tight on the Lieutenants elbow, knuckles turning white as he pulled him half a foot away from James's position.

"Boy, you get your damn hands off me," Bishop snarled.

"Not until you get the _hell_ away from my recruit, Lieutenant," Winchester retorted, his jaw clenched tight.

There was a stalemate for a moment until Bishop seemed to relax. Even then, Winchester didn't release him. Bishop had an eerie smile on his face, never looking away from the Sergeant. After a minute or two, he stepped back and Winchester relinquished his hold.

James was starting black out, but he felt strong, warm arms under his knees and supporting his back. He leaned openly against the warmth, taking no shame in his semi-conscious state in reaching up to grasp the savior's shirt.

And then...just nothing at all.

* * *

When James began to come to, he was in a warm place again, but there was no physical contact this time. He was lying on a soft bed, covered up to the neck with a thick blanket. His eyelids flickered with coming consciousness, but then he heard some voices somewhere to his right and he immediately kept his eyes shut, his breathing even.

"...was totally uncalled for."

"I know."

"...In front of everyone. "

"I know, Dean. I know," This was definitely Staff Sergeant Winchester, the one James met on the first day.

"I'm not puttin' up with this again, Sammy. He pulls rank on me, and I'll fuck his shit up."

"You're not going to do that," said Staff Sergeant bracingly.

" Right about now? It's really fuckin' tempting."

"I understand you're upset right now...and I wish I could stay...but this situation needs to be-"

"Yeah, yeah. Go on."

James heard the shuffling of feet as one set departed, getting further and further away. He heard the other set coming closer to him and then the creak of a chair. His eye opened in a slit and he slowly turned his head to face the direction that Sergeant Winchester was sitting.

"How...long have I been out?"

"Couple hours."

Well, at least that was better than days. James started to move to sit up and Sergeant Winchester was quick to stand, placing a firm and heavy grip on James's shoulder.

"Careful. You'll fuck up the bandages."

"Bandages...," James repeated, looking down and finding his shirt had been removed and almost all of his chest was exposed. The only modesty he was given was the thick white tape-like bandage placed around his stomach.

He was suddenly very conscious of the bruises and marks that came from elsewhere. He couldn't know that Dean had searched his file...had known what to expect.

No, he didn't know that, until he saw the Sergeant's expression. There was no surprise. His gaze was hard and intense as they went over James's body. He felt a surge of heat and moved to take the blanket over himself again.

"You broke two ribs."

James felt a slight tremble at that. "...Guess that means I'm kicked out."

Sergeant Winchester sat back down slowly. "No, it does not mean that, Private Novak. The program is voluntary. If you want to leave, you're allowed to at any time. After what happened, I don't blame you. But we're not kickin' you out."

James din't understand. "...but...I don't get it. I failed. I failed the course, didn't I?"

Sergeant traced his lower lip. "Someone failed somethin' today...but it wasn't you."

James still didn't get it. But there was something grim in Sergeant Winchester's expression.

"I'm sorry...," James conceded, feeling a string of pathetic emotions, most commonly rooted with Bishop's own description. He was **weak.** He wasn't fit for this place. "...for embarrassing you...for failing you. I know you don't think so, sir. But...I do."

Sergeant Winchester absently scratched his neck. "I told you it wasn't you...so don't apologize."

James just shook off his attempt to comfort...or whatever it was. It was his fault. This was humiliating. He didn't want to leave this room. This day...just couldn't get any worse.

"So...," Sergeant Winchester spoke with the air of attempting to sound casual. "I read into your file. Your personal file."

Never mind. It _could_ get worse.

"Four suicide attempts in two years. That's some information to take in, Private," said Sergeant Winchester.

Jesus, James just wanted to huddle into the bed and never wake up again.

"You don't...You dont understand,"

"Hmm," said Sergeant Winchester thoughtfully. "...Maybe not. Maybe I'll never really understand that. You see...the way I see it. You get two of most things. Two eyes...Two ears. Two feet. Two hands. Two parents...You lose one, you got another. _At least_ you got that other, right? But you only get _one_ life."

Sergeant leaned forward in his seat, elbows on his knees. "...and when you choose to take away that one life...you are abandoning every alternative to escape the situation that makes you feel like you need to end it all. And I don't... _believe_ there's not an alternative. There is always a choice. And if there is one thing we have **absolute** control over...it's our lives and how we want to live it."

James raised his knees up, ignoring the screaming protest in his ribs, wincing slightly as he wrapped his arms around them. When he looked over to the Sergeant, he could see a burning intensity to his eyes that he couldnt quite look away from.

"...Private Novak, I'm not kickin' you out of this program and sending you packing back to your parents. That's not on me. That's on you. You have to make that decision yourself. But what I can do is make you a promise. I'm sure you've watched a fair few...action movies in your life, right?"

"...I guess."

"Then you know what cover fire is, I assume," said Sergeant Winchester. "It's when your comrade provides a distraction to the enemy in order for you to achieve the objective. It's a method of protection. Oldest method in the book."

"Yeah...I've heard it."

Sergeant Winchester nodded. "What I can promise...is that if you choose to stay here...whether it's for the program or for the long haul, I'm going to cover you. As long as I'm around...nothing bad is going to happen to you ever again. I...will never let anyone hurt you."

"You're going to...," James paused as he repeated him. "...cover me?"

"That's right."

James sniffed. "I don't...know if..."

Sergeant Winchester stood up then, waving off James's attempt to finish the sentence.

"I don't need an answer from you now. I need you to get your rest, private. I need you to sit out Hell week and recover. I'll check in back with you. You let me know then, all right?"

James looked down at a place on the sheets, muttering low. "Okay."

"I can't hear you, private."

"Sir, yes, sir," James said with more strength, giving half a smile to the Sergeant who returned it, reaching down to give his shoulder another squeeze. James ignored the phantom pain that came from his earlier fall and watched the Sergeant place a hat back on his head and leave him.


	4. IV

Dean should have expected the storm after the calm. He left Novak's medical quarters feeling a little better about the situation as a whole. It was good to know the recruit was at least _considering_ the proposition that Dean had offered him.

He was barely getting dressed the next day, sliding boots on and tying them up when Staff Sergeant Winchester walked in, glad that he found Dean in a decent state. Dean just glanced up at him before returning his attention back to his boot.

Sam didn't have to say anything. Dean already knew.

"I guess this means you couldn't stabilize the situation," said Dean, flattening his feet on the floor and sighing.

Sam nodded. "I did the best I could, Dean. They're talking about a court martial. I told the Captain to hear your side first...both of yours before that decision was made. He's waiting to talk to you now."

Dean grunted as he raised his foot up to rest on his knee and completely straightened one of his boots. Then he stood up and made to approach his younger brother. "Now...I really hope when you say court martial...you're talkin' about that aggressive motherfucker who kicked a teenager while he was down."

Sam cleared his throat and shook his head. "...I wish it was that simple."

"Nothin' ever is," Dean replied with a humorless smile as he picked up his jacket and buttoned it over himself. Sam waited patiently then walked with Dean outside. Despite being the older brother, he was a few inches shorter than Sam. It was an unusually cold and windy day today and Dean adjusted his hat more comfortably.

"I told Gordon take over your exercises for the day. Troop 41 and Troop 88 are combining for the rest of PT until...," Sam trailed off, looking awkward.

"What? Until my fuckin' sentencing?" Dean laughed.

"Why don't you take this more seriously, Dean? This isn't a game. You could be discharged for this kind of thing," Sam scolded him.

"I don't give a damn, Sammy. This. This whole damn thing is ridiculous," Dean snapped.

Sam nodded his agreement. "I'm gonna vouch for you...I'm gonna back you, Dean. You have to trust me on that. But one thing I want you to remember is to _keep your cool._ We don't need you losing your temper for any reason. That's not going to help."

"I know how to keep my cool,"

"Yeah...but you also have a tendency to fly off the handle sometimes...say whatever comes to mind. This wouldn't be happening if you didn't break rank...so breaking rank further isn't going to help anything," Sam explained. "...but the Captain likes you. Maybe he'll go easy on you."

Dean made a skeptical sound but they had arrived and very formally, Sam held the door to his office open for Dean. It was occupied with exactly who Dean expected. Even that didn't stop the irritation he felt at seeing Lieutenant Bishop in his brother's office.

The man in front, occupying Sam's seat was an older gentleman wearing a forest green service uniform. His light blue eyes fixed onto Sam and Dean as they entered the office. Both Winchesters snapped to attention and saluted him. He stood as well, returning the salute before relaxing.

"Captain Singer, sir," said Dean.

"At ease. Step off, Staff Sergeant," said Captain Singer, watching as Sam relaxed and moved to stand at the Captain's side. Singer had glasses on, which he peered at both men over the rim. His eyes flickered from one to the other before he sat back down. "I take it the two of you know why you were called in here."

"Yes, Captain,"

Singer adjusted the papers in front of him. It was a report that Sam had sent over to him which required the Captain's presence.

It was just very obvious he didn't want to be there. He sighed and his gaze fell on Bishop. "Lieutenant. These are serious accusations. Is this report in front of me true? Did you assault one of the recruits?"

"I have not seen the report, sir. I cannot attest to any of it being true...More than likely it is a gross falsehood," said Bishop, his eyes flashing coldly over Sam, whose expression didn't change.

"There are sixteen eyewitnesses, Lieutenant. That makes what's in this report valid information. Did you assault one of the Initiative recruits? The answer is yes or no."

"I may have...gone a little hard on one of the recruits, sir. Yes."

"Permission to speak, Captain," Dean interjected. Singer flashed Dean a wary look, probably feeling the same as Sam...that with Dean, there had to be a certain level of caution. Sam's own look had changed just the slightest, his eyes widening on Dean...giving his older brother the slightest shake of his head.

"Permission granted, Sergeant."

Dean took two steps forward, keeping his eyes trained on the Captain. "Sir, I'm sure the Lieutenant's background speaks for itself. This isn't the first instance of this abuse of authority."

" 'Abuse of authority'," Bishop scoffed. "Listen to you. This isn't an ice cream social, Sergeant. This is the military. You create a program to show civilians the taste of the marine corp, you get what you get. Sergeant Winchester, why don't you try issuing a court martial when I've _actually_ done something to warrant Captain Singer's attention?"

"Lieutenant Bishop, I'm well aware of _where_ I am, thank you," said Dean coldly. "Clearly, _you_ do not."

"And what exactly does that mean?" Bishop stepped to invade Dean's space entirely from his side.

"It means what I meant," Dean spoke through his teeth, moving to stand parallel to him. " But my personal opinions of your methods can be put aside, Lieutenant. You are correct at least in your understanding of this situation. This is my program. That means you have no **goddamn** jurisdiction over my unit."

"Sergeant," Captain Singer's voice was a warning.

But Bishop didn't seem to mind the hint of Dean's outspoken tongue. "No. No...You have some personal opinions, Sergeant Winchester? Do tell, why don't you?"

"De-" Sam began.

Dean didn't break the Lt's gaze. "...You really want to know my opinion, Lieutenant?"

"I really do."

"Say what you want about my methods, Lieutenant Bishop...I know why _I_ am here. The very basis of our code is to protect those in need and those who cannot fight to defend themselves. That is a basic instinct that should be ingrained into the very soul of every marine here. If we lose sight of that little shred of humanity, then there is **no** point to any action done within the confines of this base."

Bishop paused for a moment before his lips split into a mocking smile.

"Hahaha. You really are...an **ignorant** sonuvabitch, aren't you, Sergeant?"

"That's enough. Both of you," said Captain Singer, standing up again. "Sergeant Winchester, you are relieved from your duty for the remainder of the day. Let me speak to Lieutenant Bishop alone. Staff Sergeant, you are dismissed as well. As you were."

Dean's lips parted like he wanted to say more, but this time the look from Sam really did silence him. He just cleared his throat, feeling his teeth clench tight and form a twitch in his jaw.

"Yes, sir!" He gave Captain Singer another salute before taking his leave, Sam following suit.

Only when they were outside and well outside of earshot did Dean speak.

"Can you fuckin' believe this?"

"Dean...I told you to keep your temper," Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair under his hat and pinching his temples.

"Yeah, like that' was possible with what was said in there."

"I know what was said," said Sam, sighing. "Look...I don't want this incident provoked any further. No matter what decision the brass comes back with, I want you to just go back to normal. Pretend it didn't happen. This is already becoming a bigger crap storm than it has to be."

"You _can't_ be serious,"

"You want to get discharged or you want to go home?" Sam asked. It was a strange question but not one that Dean hadn't heard from him before. Discharged of course meant going home...but there was only one place Dean considered home...and it wasn't some apartment in the city.

"I want to stay home," said Dean after a minute.

Sam pat his shoulder. "Good. I want you to stay home too. I need you here. I'm hoping Private Novak will be fully healed by the programs' end and we can avoid having to deal with the parents, get a lawsuit on our hands."

Normally, if Dean were to hear something like this, something like Sam just choosing not to inform legal guardians of an injury, he would be pissed. Shocked too, maybe. But in this case...just thinking of Novak's file...maybe it was a good idea not to tell them. He was safer in this place if only it would keep him from causing any self-harm.

The door behind them opened and the two of them watched as Captain Singer spoke in quiet tones to Lieutenant Bishop. It was a bit disheartening to see how friendly the two of them were. No rank there...just an image of two friends chatting up like they were old buddies.

Captain Singer went around back to his car while Bishop began to walk. And of course he spotted the two of them and changed direction to approach. Dean was suddenly and surely not interested in hearing the Captain's decision. Didn't look like he had a choice in hearing it, however.

"Staff Sergeant, you are dismissed," said Bishop. Sam gave Dean a long look before he turned and walked down the path they had been set to walk. Bishop turned to Dean.

"I really don't give a damn what the hell the Cap-" Dean began.

"You've never been on active duty, have you, Sergeant?"

"No, sir. I have not."

Bishop nodded, confirming an internal thought. "I thought not. Let me give you a bit of advice. You may not respect me, Sergeant Winchester. And that's just fine with me. If you were anyone else, any one else in the world, I'd have your throat under my boot. But I was in your shoes once. Thinkin' I was savin' the goddamn world by serving. And you know who shut me down?"

"No, sir."

"Major John Winchester. Your dad. Make whatever speeches you want, Sergeant. Feel good 'bout them too. Come back from a tour of duty...see if you feel the same."

Dean just remained still, staring at the space the Lt. stood while the other left him, sneering back at the Sergeant one last time before he left.

* * *

James was released - tentatively from the med building about three days later. It felt like it had all passed in a blur...with how much sleep the other was forced to get from the nurses. At least he could be happy that the resident nurse was no different from a normal nurse, fussing over him and making faces when she would find him awake or not eating. She was a kind woman.

To him, not much time had passed...but he did have time to mull over Sergeant Winchester's proposition. It was a hard offer not to accept...though he had a hard time believing that the Sergeant was capable of fulfilling it entirely. He didn't want to appear weak..or frail...but after the PT incident, it was hard not to fall into that line of thought. How many people had witnessed that?

Every time he thought of it, James just wanted to curl into the sheets and burrow there for a thousand years. The prospect of going home was almost more tempting.

 _Almost._

His bandages were now fresh and he walked with a little more confidence outside of the building. They had brought him the utility uniform,forest green shirt and camo pants. His injuries were not visible...but it wasn't hard to tell that he _had_ been injured given the way he was favoring his side.

There was just a lot of dread at heading back to the barracks with this overwhelming sense of the unknown. He didn't know what to expect from the others. He didn't know what they thought of him.

As he approached the barracks, however, he was surprised to find they were empty. What if the troop was being punished again? He went over the last time this happened and felt a phantom pain in his knees as remembering how he had to scrub the floor with a damn toothbrush.

It was curious to find a black Impala parked to the side of the barracks as well. James was careful in approaching from the side, spotting two camouflaged legs sticking out from the bottom. This was an old car...

He backed up quick when the person underneath rolled out and he was left to tilt his head down at the upside down head of Sergeant Winchester. He moved aside as the Sergeant fully pulled himself from under the car and stood up.

"Private Novak," Sergeant Winchester greeted him, turning his back on him to retrieve a white rag off his windshield that he used to wipe the black oil off his hands.

"Sergeant. I mean sir...Where is everyone?"

"I let them off for the day," said Sergeant Winchester, opening up the hood of his car and surveying the engine that was no doubt heated due to prolonged sun exposure. He began twisting a few things here and there. "They're more than likely in the rec center...or somewhere 'round here."

"Oh...I suppose I should find the rec center then...can you point me in the right direction, sir?"

Sergeant Winchester finally looked over him then, his gaze lingering on James's torso where the bandages should have been hard to see. He wasn't looking at the injury. He was looking at James's posture. James meanwhile noted that there was _agitated_ look to the Sergeant's eyes.

"...No, you should not," The Sergeant replied, shutting the hood and pulling out his car keys from his pocket. He came back over to the side of the car where James was and leaned against his car door. "You should come with me."

"Come with you, sir? I don't know what you mean,"

"I wanna show you something, Private," The Sergeant left it at that, climbing into his car and rolling the window down to address him. "Unless you're otherwise occupied."

"Is that an order, Sergeant?" The question tumbled out before James could stop it. It was just that he was used to the fact that this place _thrived_ on following orders.

Winchester looked at him for a long moment, fingers drumming on the steering wheel. "No. It's a choice. But I'd _like_ it if you complied, Private."

James just shuffled his feet for a moment...and then he decided that this was a much better alternative than trying to bond with the other members of the platoon aside from Balthazar. He moved around to the other side of the car and slid inside. Dean's cologne was heavy inside here. He liked it...more than he should have.

He really shouldn't have been addressing the man as 'Dean' in his mind. He wasn't supposed to be Dean. He was supposed to be sir or Sergeant like he had wanted himself to be to them the first day. Yet it was hard not to do it. He had introduced himself to James first personally as Dean...and now he was wondering if all he was in the Sergeant's head was 'Private Novak.'

"Sir," James spoke as soon as they left the military complex, kind of feeling himself relax without any potentially embarrassing moments. "...Do you mind if I ask where we're going?"

Winchester took one hand off the steering wheel in favor of tracing his lower lip. "Some place I like to think."

"Oh."

Sergeant Winchester peered at him from the side. "I've been wantin' to talk to you...and the kinda talk I wanna have...it's better off done _privately."_

James tried to hide very much that he kind of shuddered at the way the Sergeant said 'privately'.

"...I've been meaning to talk to you too, sir."

Winchester just kind of smiled, looking James's way at last. "Then this is mutual. Don't worry about it, Novak. You're not in any trouble, if that's what you're thinkin'."

"I'm not worried, sir. I'm glad you're taking the time,"

"Good. Push the seat back a little and relax. It's an hour drive. We'll talk when we get there."


	5. V

It was kind of relieving to leave the base. He hadn't spent much time here by any standard, but he was getting kind of sick of the medical area and the room he had been confined in with no company whatsoever. They weren't heading in the direction of home. Sergeant Winchester was taking him to the city. Which was fine enough for him. He didn't comply with the order of leaning back to rest, despite the fact that his body _did_ still feel tired.

Mostly due to the fact that he had a few questions for the Sergeant. He had invited him to come along on this to talk, right? Perhaps he wanted to wait until they got to their destination. This was further proven when the Sergeant switched on some music. He shouldn't have been surprised at what came through the speakers. But he was. It wasn't country, per say. It was more like classic rock. Music that people would have listened to during the Vietnam war. No doubt this was music that his father used to force on his children.

Now he was making assumptions. Maybe Sergeant Winchester really did like this music. As he drove towards the peaked sunset, he slipped on a pair of sunglasses and increased his speed, an elbow outside the window.

"Sergeant...," James's voice was low, but it was picked up on, the Sergeant turning the dial back a few notches on the music volume.

"Private," said Winchester.

"If you don't mind my asking, sir. Why were we given the day off?"

Something like supreme annoyance passed over the Sergeant's features. Yet James had an intuition that this wasn't directed at him. "...Because I was given the day off by my superior officers pending...deliberation on a case."

"Are you in trouble, sir?" The Sergeant looked over at James then and he was quick to explain. "I'm sorry...I know these things are _usually_ my fault. This is probably because of what happened to me during PT, sir."

"...You're quick to point the pistol at your own head, Private," Sergeant Winchester noted.

"I'm sorry, sir,"

"Don't be sorry."

"What happened to you during PT was an accident, Private. There were too many eyewitnesses," said Winchester shortly. "Brass isn't blaming you. "

"But they're blaming you," said James slowly. The Sergeant hadn't answered the first question of whether he was in trouble or not.

"...Someone's gotta take responsibility," said Winchester with a small shrug of his shoulders.

"Sergeant,"

"Look, I don't wanna talk about that...well... _kind of_...but not really. But something close to it. With you. So humor me for a few minutes," Sergeant Winchester had finally taken them to the destined location, parking in front of a bar that James had never seen before called Russell's Grill and Bar. Judging by the number of motorcycles situated in different lines, this was definitely a biker bar.

James was paying attention to that but as he exited the car, he was more focused on what the Sergeant had said. It was a little confusing. Nevertheless, he followed him inside the bar and was almost blown back by the acrid smell of tobacco smoke. The bar was dimly lit, and each stool to their right was occupied by someone in a black leather jacket. No one even looked when the two men walked in. There was a lot of loud noises, from the sound of bottles and shot glasses clinking together to the sound of pool games going on.

The Sergeant led him over to a secluded table for two in the corner and before any further conversation could occur, a woman approached wearing short shorts and a small sized plaid shirt, tied up at the front. James didn't miss the way she was eying the Sergeant with great interest. If Winchester noticed, he didn't acknowledge it. But there was something very hopeful in her expression as she asked what they wanted and kept her eyes only on him.

"One whiskey and...," Winchester looked over James for a moment. "...a coke for him."

As she walked off, James tilted his head and watched as the Sergeant leaned in.

"I forgot you were underage. Old enough to smoke your lungs up, but not old enough to get hammered. It's a strange world," Winchester commented.

James just shook it off. "I don't feel up to drinking anyway."

"Have you ever drunk before?"

James nodded. " A little. "

"...Not a fan?"

"It's an experience, for sure," said James. An experience in the fact that it put James in a position where he couldn't recall almost anything afterwards. "I guess it's a little risk you take, just kind of forfeiting control."

Winchester leaned back in his chair, fingers interlocked on top of his stomach. "I'm guessin' you don't like takin' risks."

"I don't think I trust anyone to lose control of myself around, sir," said James.

The Sergeant chewed that over for a few seconds, a frown starting to form. "You don't trust anyone."

It wasn't stated like a question or a affirming statement that was waiting for James's agreement. It was stated like a cold, hard **fact.** For some reason...that made James feel slightly uneasy.

"Is this an interview, sir?" James blurted out before he could stop himself.

" _No,_ Private Novak. It's an observation and insight into your personality, " Winchester replied with a bite to his tone. "I'm tryin' to make sense of this...new...enigma in my life right now that is you, Novak. There are things I can't wrap my mind around."

Winchester leaned forward into the table then, his chair sliding forward a few inches in the motion. "Like for example..."

Before James could stop him, Winchester was taking a hold of the collar of his shirt, pulling it back a few inches to reveal a bruise that was fresh and purple a few days ago...now faded, red and still very visible. It was the same bruise that Winchester saw in his physical inspection. James tried not to openly shudder at the slight brush of knuckles he felt on his neck.

"I can't wrap my head around you lettin' someone hit you like this."

James reflexively found his hand snapping, fingers wrapping around Winchester's wrist to prevent further progress. There were a lot of things he wanted to say then. The Sergeant wasn't breaking his sharp gaze from Novak's. There was nothing mocking in his eyes...nothing cruel in his statement.

But it was too observant. He saw too much.

"With all due respect... _sir_...," James emphasized the last word, nearly forgetting it in his attempt to keep composure. "...Why do you care?"

Before the Sergeant could answer him, the waitress was back and placing a cold cola in front him alongside a full bottle and glass for the Sergeant. They broke apart instantly. Winchester's look was almost too casual as he caught her gaze and smiled politely before she left them again.

He began pouring himself a drink. " ...What do you mean, _why_ do I care?"

"I mean...," James closed his eyes, wondering if he should bother at all with continuing...yet his curiosity got the better of him. "...I mean...sir. Why do you care? Why did you offer to protect me back there? Why are you taking the fall for what happened during PT? What does it matter to you?"

Before the Sergeant could answer, James's mind was already concocting what was the possible answer. Having someone give him this...attention, it was not something with which he was accustomed.

There was _no_ possible way there wasn't a catch here...some kind of underlying bad intention. There was no way the Sergeant wasn't getting something out of it by pretending to give a shit.

People didn't just...care randomly. Maybe he was getting paid extra to keep a special eye out on James.

Or maybe this was just his idea of sick amusement. That look in his eyes couldn't be sincere. That kind of strange...compassion didn't exist.

Besides, he knew about James's...colorful past. He knew what he had attempted to do before...Wasn't it a general consensus that the military didn't accept people who had that kind of history or mental instability? How was this not some sick prank?

The Sergeant was looking at him for a long time while James thought all of this, watching his expression contort, his anxiety spike...and his heavy desire to just bolt for the door rise. He heard thunder rumble outside and felt the weather was giving a fitting contribution to his own inner turmoil.

Winchester took a sip of his drink and averted his gaze from James at last, just twirling the glass over by the rim. "...I know _that_ look. That's the look of a downward spiral of self-hate. You wanna know what I do whenever I get those kinds of thoughts?"

Winchester waited for James to give an answer, when the Private didn't, he continued. "I take a deep breath...and I close my eyes. I think of...the one place in the world...that I want to be. The place that's...perfect. Where I feel...at peace. Even if it's a place I have never been...or never even gotten close to..That's the idea, isn't it...? To find that place where there's nothing... _nothing_ that can hurt us...cause us back on that downward spiral. "

James pinched the bridge of his nose, feeling a fresh wave of sorrow. He didn't know what caused it, but something inside his chest tightened.

"I...I have to go."

All his inner defenses were back up and he shoved away from the table, away from his unfinished drink, from the rickety table...and the Sergeant. His chair was loud against the wood as he darted towards the door, his hand already up to push the doors open and walk out into the night.

He wouldn't give the Sergeant the satisfaction of looking back. Rain drops pelted his head and soaked his clothing within moments. It was hard to hear anything over the sound of the storm...the sound of wind whistling in his ears. He felt his body start to numb from the cold, his arms wrapping around himself tighter.

And he had no idea where he was going...didn't know if he was even going in the right direction of the base.

But was that really where he wanted to be? No...never again. This was a method of control for _him_. Novak Sr. It was to discipline him and make him into the son he wanted James to be. The heir. It was a program that was meant to break him entirely...shed him of the 'rebellious' phase that they believed he was having. This was his way of putting an end to all of James's mental instabilities.

If he knew what had happened to James during the training, he'd think it all appropriate. He'd think it was deserved. James could practically see the expression on Novak Sr's face.

Strange how in these moments, he felt he had the most clarity.

The cold...The cold was too much. He couldn't move anymore. Already, his stride was starting to falter, and he could barely stand. He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes falling on two large lights visible through the storm. A truck. The driver wouldn't see him in the night, through the pouring rain.

 _Kind of fitting._

James tentatively extended one arm...then the other, feeling more cold water soak over him. His body aligned and he felt a strange feeling of...acceptance. Is this what the Sergeant had mentioned? A perfect place...wasn't that heaven? His eyes closed as he had been instructed and he let out a soft sigh as he waited for the inevitable.

But it never came. He felt a sharp pain in his side before he was knocked off his feet and twisted in the air, a sudden wet and heavy weight on top of him. His back hit soft grass and he was left to open his eyes and see the darkness that had been clouding his vision.

Dean's hands were wrapped around James's wrists, pinning him in place as he bore his weight down upon the young man, his breathing harsh...yet hot. It was all James could feel after nearly freezing to death. The pain in his side and lower back was terrible...but surprisingly no pain than usual in his front where his ribs were still tender. Even here, the Sergeant was keeping conscious weight off him there.

James watched his expression, saw the burning intensity he saw there, same as before.

How could anyone this beautiful give a damn about _him?_

He expected rage...and yet the other man surprised him.

Finally, he spoke. "...You asked me why I cared. Why it matters...Would you do me the honor of hearin' my answer, Novak?"

James just stared up at him. In this proximity, he was focused on the way his lips moved...on how his gaze never wavered from James, as if everything else around them, the storm, the traffic...how none of it mattered.

"...Yes."

Dean released his wrists then, hands sliding down to take hold of James's face. "...Because I don't want you to die."

Surprise made James let out a sharp gasp between them. He shifted reflexively under Dean. "...I don't...understand...sir...I..."

Dean's thumbs brushed underneath James's eyes as if wiping away tears, the motion fluid...soothing. "I'll _never_ want you to die. Do you understand me, Novak? I'll _never_ want you to die."

James's breathing became ragged between them. He could feel the heat of Dean's skin as he made their bodies flush with one another...he could feel his heart beating against his own.

"...I understand..."

Slowly, the other man's face pulled away and a slow smile began to form, lighting up his entire face with a sort of glow. The look that James wished he had recieved from the Sergeant after a perfect trial on the obstacle course.

But he'd take what he could now.

"Good...Now let's get back to base before dawn."


	6. VI

**A/N:** I edited and added a scene to this chapter so I've reposted it.

* * *

As James climbed into Dean's Impala again, he was filled with hesitance. It wasn't over what just transpired, though that should have caused him some embarrassment. The man had just tackled him away from incoming traffic, saving his life from certain death. On top of that, he had iterated in sure tones that he didn't want James to die. That was a first for the young man to hear. At least with sincerity.

He was more hesitant because he wasn't sure where they were going from here. Discussing this...wasn't that inevitable? He wasn't looking forward to that. He had aired his dirty laundry out...somewhat. Now there would be questions he would have to answer. At least before, there was some mystery. At least before, he could just shrug it all off with a lie...

Now, however...how was he supposed to do that?

He looked away from the Impala and debated his chances of running away. The Sergeant was probably a star athlete. That body definitely showed it.

Dean just watched him over the top of his car, seeming to sense the direction of his thoughts.

"Don't try it. I'm a track star," The Sergeant warned. He opened his door and waited for James to do the same.

Thinking he pretty much had a minuscule chance of running away, James sighed and climbed inside as well, instantly feeling sorry for getting the man's seats wet. They were leather...all they would need is a good wipe down, but still.

Sergeant Winchester wasn't even looking at that as he pulled out of the parking lot and entered the main road. His eyes were focused on what was in front of him.

"Listen...Sir...what just happened was-"

James broke his own sentence off, not sure of how to finish. He really couldn't rightly describe what just happened. He was feeling a mixture of emotions from it. Gratitude was obvious.

"Thank you. I wanted to thank you," said James finally.

Dean's eye twitched just the slightest. "Hmm."

"I'm sorry. I know I'm being difficult. You don't have to say anything...and if you want to transfer me sir...I won't blame you," James murmured.

"I'm really getting sick and tired of hearin' you say you're sorry."

"Sorry..." said James before he could stop himself. "I mean. Yes sir. I won't say it, sir."

Dean gave him a steely look before taking one hand off the wheel to reach towards the backseat. He pulled a worn black leather jacket from there and passed it over to James.

"Put this on. You'll catch a cold otherwise."

His tone brokered no arguments so James took the jacket that was about two sizes too big, adjusted it and slid it around his shoulders without putting his arms through the sleeves. Even without doing that, he could smell Dean's cologne coming off it.

It was clear that the Sergeant didn't want to converse further, each having too much on their mind or still cold. Twice, James heard and saw the Sergeant shiver in his peripheral. He felt bad for him. Maybe he should offer the jacket back. Yeah, it was a nice offer to think of and not actually verbally iterate. James was reluctant to part with this source of warmth already.

Even with the jacket on, the heat on in the car...it was still cold. He stifled a sneeze for as long as he could before he couldn't help it. As he sat back in his seat, he glanced at the Sergeant shaking his head.

"It's a long way back. I know somewhere we can stop," said Dean, making a U-turn.

"Where?"

"My apartment,"

James's heart skipped a beat at the prospect of seeing the other man's home. Didn't military personnel typically live at the base?

"Um...Your apartment?...Like where you live...? And...sleep?"

The Sergeant obviously noticed the change in his tone and there was something amused in his expression as he looked James's way. "I do sleep there. Sometimes. When I want to get away from the cloudy atmosphere in the base. Yes. "

"Oh...okay."

He took them to an unfamiliar neighborhood. It was still within Century City, but it was not somewhere that James had been before. He looked out the window. These didn't look like normal apartments...

The other man pulled out an umbrella from the back and was quick to exit the car and come to James's side where the other was pulled under to shield from any further damage from the rain. He followed the Sergeant up the steps to an elevator. Yeah...this definitely didn't fit into what James knew of apartments. Especially city ones.

He was expecting furnishing similar to the barracks, but the overall look of just the outside was not. The elevator walls looked to be made of granite and as the doors opened to the fourth floor, he smelled lavendar. There was only two doors on this floor. Which implied that the 'apartment' was big enough to take up half a floor.

Because it wasn't an apartment. He was severely understating it. This was more like a loft. There was a huge lavish living room with couches looked to be made of white suede, the carpet looked pristine...like it had never been walked on before. He must have had someone come in on the regular to vacuum and steam clean it. Not that it probably needed it. The fireplace to the right was also lined with the same granite from the elevator.

All this, the military paid for?

"This is uh...This is different," James commented, continuing to look around and stopping short of the marble counter tops. Really? It wasn't like Novak Sr. wasn't well off...he just didn't expect a military man to have a loft like this.

Dean was closing and locking the door behind him. "My father pays for it."

"Oh..."

James stood there awkwardly until Dean approached and placed a hand lightly on his shoulder. "My room is a little down the hall to the left. The bathroom's attached if you want to take a hot shower. I'll put out some...clothes."

James nodded. "Thank you. Really."

"Uh huh."

The Sergeant shuffled past him to the kitchen where he began digging around the fridge for something. Probably a beer. He followed the directions to the man's bedroom. There was a king size bed in the middle of the room with red and gold sheets that James eyed almost enviously. Not for the quality...but because even though he knew he needed to shower...what he really wanted to do was just collapse and sleep for ten hours straight. Since this program started, he hadn't slept well.

He resisted the temptation and just went into the bathroom, taking in the dim lighting that cast an orange kind of look on the peach theme that was within. It really was nice. But given how clean the towels were in perfect line up...how empty the sink was...and how the little glass for razors and toothbrushes looked untouched, he could tell this place hadn't been visited in a long time. He wondered if Dean had even slept in this place.

Shaking off his distracting thoughts, James stepped into the shower and gladly turned on the hot water. It was an instantly soothing sensation on his body, taking away the cold feel of his skin within seconds. He couldn't help the sigh that left him there. He used as little as possible of the body wash and the shampoo, still spending longer than necessary inside the shower...just basking in the warmth.

When he emerged, he took one of the larger white towels and wrapped it around his waist. There was steam permeating from every inch of the room, blocking his view of nearly everything. Hesitantly, he stepped forward, trying for the direction of the door and missing entirely.

James stumbled slightly and heard a distinct voice outside the door, feeling a sharp sting where the door knob was suddenly pressed into his abdomen. At least he found the door.

"You all right in there?"

"...Yes...I'm coming out."

A small pause.

"Clothes are on the bed."

"Okay, thanks."

James waited until he heard the footsteps retreating before he twisted the knob and entered the bedroom again. He felt like he was in a movie with all the steam that came pouring out with him. Like he was a badass making an entrance somewhere. He smiled slightly to himself before approaching the folded clothes on the bed. He unraveled it. Just a simple white t-shirt that was a size or two too big and some jeans. Dean predicted they wouldn't be of the same size because there was a belt lying beside it.

He slipped the clothes on as fast as he could and buckled on the belt. He was running his hands through stubborn, wet locks of hair as he exited the bedroom and came out to the living room. James didn't spot the Sergeant immediately, glancing through the kitchen dining area. Then he saw that the balcony window had been slid open and there was a lone figure there with his back to him.

The rain had stopped and it actually felt pleasant outside...very little wind...but enough that his still wet body involuntarily shivered as he slipped onto the balcony.

Dean turned his head in James's direction. "All done?"

"Yeah. Thanks. Again. It's really...nice of you to do this. You really didn't have to."

Among other things...like chase him down a busy highway, tackle him and save him from death. No one should have to do that.

But he still couldn't figure out the incentive behind it.

And perhaps that was why his next words might have come out a little more than insensitive.

"...I'll be sure to tell the Staff Sergeant...or anyone else that you need me to, sir."

Dean continued to face his direction for a moment before he looked back out to the city. He didn't notice he had a beer clutched in his hand and he watched the other man take a large sip of it before setting it down on the ledge. He didn't look at James when he answered him.

"You think I saved you because I wanted to **impress** my superiors?"

Well...when he put it _that_ way...of course it sounded offensive.

The Sergeant just looked at him for a long moment where James could count every second. He could see the biting offense in his expression, mingled with something else that James couldn't really understand. His eyes moved downward towards the side that James was unconsciously favoring from the bandages that had stayed remarkably intact through the rain and the shower.

Another minute or so passed and then the Sergeant leaned off the ledge and stood upright, walking past James to re-enter the house.

"Come here."

His tone brokered no arguments, as usual. He was agitated. Again. James was left wanting to kick himself for saying something too blunt. But he followed the Sergeant, watching him bypass the living room entirely and enter the bedroom. His heart started beating hard in his chest and he bit his lip, slowing his stride just a bit as he hesitated in the doorway.

Dean turned his way. "Take off your shirt. I need to change your field dressing."

"Um...sir?"

He was leaving his question at that, but Dean could probably sense the rest of it as he approached his bedside table and opened one of the drawers and pulled out a large white box with a red cross on it. A first-aid kit. He nodded towards the bed.

James was still hesitant but he did as the Sergeant requested, pulling the shirt up from the bottom and lifting it over his head. He walked past the other man to approach the mattress, sitting on the edge briefly and ignoring the sting of pain from broken ribs before he swung his legs over and laid completely flat.

He was as self-conscious as he could be, fighting the desire to grab a handful of the comforter and make a burrito out of himself with it. The marks that Dean had almost seen twice now were completely visible. He had nothing to hide them with. The purple bruises were shaped like fists in various places, some streaking as though something sharp was involved like a knife through it. His anemia made him bruise easily, that was true...but it wouldn't explain why he had so many and in so many different areas of his torso, even seeping into the bandages.

Dean only looked at his face as he sat down on the edge next to James and curled a leg in, putting the first aid kit on his lap. He opened it up and absently began to rummage through it.

"Arms up."

James's arms shot up and gripped the steel headboard. Dean just quirked an eyebrow, slightly amused again.

"You can relax, Novak."

"Sorry...sir..," James murmured, easing the tension out of himself to curl frame his head around the pillow.

Dean busied himself with removing the first bandages, using a pair of thin scissors with good precision to open and expose the fresh red marks. He started to clean up the area with an alcohol wipe, careful not to go directly over the stitches and cause James pain.

"I'm gonna replace your bandages. They're only goin' to go on one side rather than all around you. It'll give you more freedom of movement...but they'll be easier to peel off in water. So you gotta be careful and reapply it as soon as you feel it loosen up."

"Okay,"

A silence fell between them where James found himself watching Dean's expression as he worked. It was unusual...how there was no...scorn in the man's expression. No revulsion or impatience. His hands felt practiced as they worked to clean the area further...to place the bandage flat. There was something so gentle in the way he smoothed the edges of it, so nice.

Dean occasionally looked at James's face as he began to solidify the first bandage with two more over it. "...You mind if I ask you a question?"

James's heart skipped a beat, which felt particularly painful when it was already racing. "...Um...I'm...not sure...No...sure. Yes."

"..Where did these marks come from, Novak?" He gestured over the bandage to the rest of James's body. James just looked at him...stared into those eyes that showed nothing but sincerity.

James finally broke his gaze from the Sergeant, his jaw tightening. He could feel Dean continue to watch him for a moment as the other worked to suppress a painful memory from bubbling to the surface. Dean hadn't even touched there..to the most recent scar right over his heart that showed a distinct letter engraved into the flesh. He was overcome with the need to cover himself...again. His fingers tightened in the sheets once more and it took everything to fight that impulse alone.

Dean glanced at his fist where knuckles began to whiten then nodded slightly to himself before turning his attention back to his task in silence.

He couldn't answer him. Not now...not without getting the question that had been burning on the edge of his tongue answered.

"Sergeant...Why are you doing this...? Why? Why help me like this?"

Dean met his gaze. "...Not everyone has an ulterior motive."

"But I...I don't understand...There's nothing to be gained from this...from saving me...taking the time. There's nothing. I can't offer you anything...I wouldn't even make a good marine. I'm too weak. I know it. It's not like I could ever stay. I wouldn't last two minutes in the real recruit training."

A flicker of annoyance passed over Dean's features and he leaned over James, placing one hand flat on the bed besides his head, caging James on one side.

"...I'm not doing...any of this...for what you think...what you assume. I'm not doing this to impress anyone...and I'm not doing this for money or to...gain somethin' from you. Hell, I'm not even asking you to join the goddamn corp after the Initiative ends."

James finally turned back to face Dean, feeling the heat of a furious breath as it escaped the other man's lips. "Then...why...are you doing this?"

Dean just stared down at him for a long moment. James was having trouble deciphering the emotion behind those green eyes. It wasn't something he couldn't understand...couldn't even fathom. Slowly, Dean's hand unraveled from the comforter where he slowly cupped James's cheek.

Unconsciously, James felt himself lean into the touch, feeling Dean's thumb brush under his eye.

"...I already told you," said Dean quietly.

James just shook his head, feeling his eyes begin to water. "I'm not one of your men...I'm nothing..I can't do anything right...nothing...I'm useless. I'm just-"

But he never got to finish. Dean's finger came between them and pressed to his lips, leaving James to trail off.

"That's enough of that."

"I'm sorr-"

Dean ignored his apology, speaking over him. "Whoever put this crap in your head, _whoever_ —"

He gave pause to give James a particularly pointed look to show his real annoyance at not having the assailants' identity revealed. "—is a complete asshole. I'm not even gonna try to refute it. It's just the truth. If you can take anything out of what happened earlier today...anything at all...then please take from it that I really...really don't like it when you talk like that. Can you do that for me?"

"...Yes, sir."

Dean nodded after a few seconds, his eyebrows still furrowed. He got up from the bed and turned his back to James. "Put your shirt on. I'll take us back to base."

James did as he was instructed, lagging behind Dean as he left by a few steps as the other man pulled his keys off the counter. He slipped on a black jacket from a closet by the door and they were out and back in the night. The trip back in Dean's Impala was mostly silent. The tension in the air was almost tangible, with both seemingly lost in thought.

Occasionally, James would glance at the Sergeant, seeing him hold the steering wheel one handed and resting his elbow out the window and a finger pressed to his lip.

Someone _had_ to break the silence. He knew that. It was only fitting it be James. The man was owed some kind of explanation..and James was aching for this kind of release. Someone had to know...he knew that.

"My father...James Novak Sr. He's...he's a strict man. I'm not sure if you ever met him when the parents came before the program started but...yeah. He's...I've known him since I was five years old. Everyone in the system...my friends I made there. They all said I was lucky when Mrs. Novak came in and took an interest in me. I was the spitting image of the son she recently lost. The same eyes, she said. And then it became...it became very real, the adoption. I remember thinking of how lucky I was too. It was the opportunity to live in a huge mansion. What kid wouldn't want that? And then I...it became real."

James didn't want to look at Dean then, because he knew something in his tone had broken a little. He sniffed and felt something sting in his eyes again. How pathetic. But he had no choice but to soldier on now.

"...He _never_ loved me. He knew I wasn't his son But he needed the good publicity...he needed the public to see him as a good man, a _family_ man. But at home...I was less than a dog to him. At dinner, I was never allowed to look up to him... _Never be level with a superior like an equal_ , he'd say...and I never did. I was conditioned that way...conditioned...to believe I was nothing...to believe I mattered to no one...and that my only purpose was to be the clean cut son of James Novak to the eyes of the media and the newspaper. The supposed heir...the next in line."

"It was only...when I started to get a mind of my own...started trying to fight back...to defy him is when he started to get violent. His temper...rage...that's all he feels. He stopped taking medication to control himself...he pulled away from the public. He was there...he was always there...with a belt. He'd have me on the ground, curling up and begging him to stop. I wanted...I...wanted an out."

The tears spilled over, rolling down his cheeks and his voice really did break this time.

" ...So I tried to kill myself...and I...I couldn't...I was...I...was..."

"You were afraid," Dean finished in a low voice.

"...I wasn't ready,"

"...I know,"

James shook his head. "I'm sorry...and I know you don't want me to apologize either. But...you deserved some kind of explanation...and I needed...I needed to tell someone too. I know it's not your job to take on a nutcase like me...far from it...but...I guess I wanted it out there."

"I don't think you're a nutcase." Dean snapped. "And you're right...I'm not trained for this kind of thing. I really am not. In fact...my training would probably not help you in any case...that doesn't mean...I have to just ignore the situation, however."

"You can, sir...It's just a waste of your time," James muttered.

"That's your opinion," said Dean. "And your opinion is low. And in this case, irrelevant."

"Irrelevant, sir?" James repeated, baffled.

"I'm going to help you, Novak, there's no question," said Dean, giving the private a crooked smile. "There was never a question. I told you...I'm going to cover you. That's what I promised you...and I meant it. I'm a man of my word."

"But-"

James broke off because he only just now noticed that the car was no longer moving and they were stopped in front of the barracks. Dean cut off the engine and faced him slightly in his seat.

"Go rest, all right? I'll see you in the morning."


	7. VII

Dean wasted no time the next morning, minutes before the wake to find his younger brother as he expected, in his office, typing away and focused on the computer screen. He barely flinched when Dean bypassed the private on guard outside the door. Apparently this was something his brother did often.

"Good morning, Dean. I take it you did not sleep well, otherwise you'd be a lot less...," Sam glanced at him. "Cranky-looking."

Dean took a seat opposite Sam, doing the most informal thing possible in putting both feet up on the desk. "We need to talk. Mind givin' me your full attention?"

"Okay," said Sam, turning away and placing his hands together. "What's up?"

Dean struggled for a brief moment...just debating if he should go any further. "...What I'm about to tell you...it's going to be in confidence. I'm tellin' you...because it bothers me...and the way I see it...you're the only one who I trust."

Sam's eyebrows came together and then he leaned forward a bit, squaring his shoulders. "What's the issue, Dean?"

And so he told him what he was informed of last night from Private Novak. It was hard to gauge Sam's reaction because his thoughtful expression never wavered. Dean paraphrased for the most part...not wanting to go into the details and fight off all his impulses all over again.

Sam was quiet for a few long minutes after Dean was done speaking, then he leaned back in his chair. "...Dean...you do realize that more than likely _this_ kind of story...is the case with most of the recruits in Initiative program. "

"This is different, Sammy. This isn't...right. It's uncalled for...we have to...," Dean groaned in frustration, running his fingers through his hair.

"None of it's right, Dean. It's just what is," Sam shook his head. " I know it bothers you...and I know you want to do something...and I know _why_ you'd want to, believe me. But we don't do shrink-work here. He's not even an official marine...so I can't just assign him a social worker or something."

Dean sunk his fingers over his temples, rocking back and forth in steady motions, repeating himself. "It's not right...It's stupid...It's just...it makes me _so..._ so _goddamn_ mad. You have no idea..."

Sam stood up and turned towards his window, watching the morning sun begin to rise. He could still see Dean's reflection through the glass. "...You care about him."

Dean didn't even try to refute the statement. "I don't know why. Initiative has been active for two years...we've had tons of recruits comin' in and out of here. This one...it's gettin' under my skin. Now I'm losin' sleep over it. I want to do something. I want to put an end to it. You've met him once, Sammy. You don't see what _I_ see..when I look in his eyes. I've never seen...anyone look so... **defeated**."

Sam closed his eyes on the image of Dean's crestfallen reflection. Words of comfort were not something frequently exchanged in the Winchester household. But he did the best he could as he stepped away from the window and moved to approach Dean.

"What we do with this program, with _your_ program. May as well give credit where it's due. What we do here, is we do what we can. What happens after it's over, whether they choose to stay or go..it's on them. I know it's harsh to say it like that. We do the best we can...and that's all one can ask for from us."

"But-"

"You can't save everyone, Dean...though you try," Sam told him quietly, his hands moving into his pockets. "I know this isn't what you wanted to hear. I know it's not gonna make you feel better either. But this...this whole thing? It's not on you. It's on him. What strength he can make from it...if he makes any at all. If he uses that strength to keep pushing..keep holding on. That's on him. Not on you. He needs to find that anchor."

Dean just placed his head in his hands and rubbed circles over over his temples. He could tell by Sam's tone that there was something final there. Without another word, he stood up and left the Staff Sergeant's office, working to suppress these personal thoughts to take on the day.

* * *

As usual, the platoon was woken to the sound of the trumpet blaring. After several drill instructors had them at the ends of their beds, doing the routine check, they filed outside. Balthazar's yawn in James's ear threatened to be contagious as they got into lines.

From his position, James couldn't really get a clear look at the Sergeant's expression. He did note that he wasn't alone this time. He had a woman standing next to him that was a little shorter than he was. She had a toned build, experienced. Definitely not a new recruit. Her hands were linked behind her as she maintained a rest position while facing the rest of the platoon.

Dean walked a line in front of them. This was usually where he sounded off or gave a few drill commands for the cadence, but he didn't this time.

"We are now officially entering Week Three. Combat training. For this week and the following week, you would do well to heed my advice and pay attention to every second of it. By week five, you will undergo a field test which will put you all in a live environment with an objective to complete. You will use everything you have learned in this course to complete this field test. If you are given an end code of 'Mission Accomplished', you will graduate from this program."

He stopped in the middle of his line, right next to the woman, mirroring her position exactly. "...Now...not many of you know this..but since we are in line with the school district, achieving this end code will provide you full exemption from attending the last two months of your semester. It will also allow you to induct into the service of the USMC as a private first class, should you choose to take on that path."

Dean paused for a long time, gaze falling on each one of them before he faced forward. "When I give the command to fall out, you will fall out to Training Site Alpha-Delta-Two Four Seven. You will follow Lance Corporal Barnes here..." He gestured to the woman next to him. "...to that site. There you will begin instruction. Everyone understand? Good. Fall out!"

The command had them all turning to the side to keep to jogging alongside the Lance Corporal who kept the cadence up with them. While so close to her, it was hard to get distracted...even though James wanted to. He wanted to look back and see if the Sergeant was following them.

Soon he was looking at a training ground that he hadn't seen before. This side of the base was literally all just one giant training ground. There were several obstacle courses like the one that they had been through during PT...and there was shooting ranges. He could see several marines lying on their fronts with sniper rifles, trying to shoot out targets that were stationed miles and miles away. There was also ranges for short-range shotguns and pistols.

There was even a wrestling ground...or it might have looked more like an old-school battle circle. There was an instructor standing between two women and stepping back from them to let them engage, their arms around eachother, foreheads pressed together before one took the upper hand and lifted the other over her body to body slam the ground. He flinched for how much that might have hurt before he realized that they had stopped.

Barnes was addressing them now. "You will undergo training with a different instructor at each station. Clearance to leave today will be determined on how many of these-" She paused to take out a bronze medallion with the Marine Corp insignia on it. "-you collect today. If I see anything less than five in your hand, you will not leave these training grounds. Does everyone understand?"

She waited for their affirmation before nodding and stepping back. "Good. Fall out."

The platoon veered off into different directions, leaving behind a few stragglers including gave the place a quick once over before choosing his own direction.

The wrestling was definitely not something for him. The instructor was perfectly fine, but once it was James's turn, he was taken down within three seconds to another Initiative recruit that was twice his size. He laid flat in the middle of the circle well after his match was over, just working to form a normal breathing pattern.

Eventually the sunlight was obscured by somehing dark and he looked to see Dean's face upside down above him.

"You sleepin' on the job, Novak?"

"No, sir...Just trying to remember how to breathe,"

Dean chuckled. "Yeah. I saw your little display. Not your finest moment, I take it."

"Looks like I won't be getting any medallions for this course," said James with a sharp expel of breath.

"Ah. Remember the rules. The rule was to try to last thirty seconds against your opponent at least. And you lasted thirty-two. So you will," Dean extended his hand and James grabbed it, using all the support he could off the other man to stand upright.

"Thanks..,"

The Sergeant already had both hands behind his back. The motion was formal, yet James couldn't help but definite it in his head as 'politely still'. He wasn't looking at James but out towards the side. James followed his gaze to a black jeep that was distantly parked in front of the main building.

"Keep training, Private," said Dean, walking out of the battle circle while the marine in charge moved to approach a distracted James and press a medallion to his hand. He was still staring after Dean.

Eventually, he broke free of his distraction and headed towards another training site.

* * *

By the time Dean closed in on the jeep, the door to the building was opening and Sam was exiting with a young man a heard or two shorter than him with dark hair. The rank patch on his shoulder was not something Dean had seen live before, only having studied it in the basics.

"Ah, Sergeant," said Sam, coming close to Dean while the officer stayed behind him. "I was hoping to introduce you. This is Agent Trenton. He's with the Criminal Investigation Division."

"CID?" Dean asked, his eyebrow raising.

"That's right. Nice to meet you, Sergeant," Trenton came forward and extended a hand towards Dean who merely looked at it. He chuckled somewhat nervously before retracting his hand.

"Trenton is here to oversee the Initiative program, Sergeant. He's going to be with you for the remainder of this particular tour."

"That's really not necessary," Dean answered, a biting edge in his tone. "I don't need the distraction."

Trenton smiled in an unpleasant sort of way. "I'm not here to cause any distractions, Sergeant. This is just to ensure everything goes smoothly. We don't want another **incident** like Southlake, do we?"

Dean's face flushed a little, nostrils flaring. "...That was a _long_ time ago, Agent Trenton. I've changed since then."

"With all due respect, Sergeant...I will be the judge of that."

The agent shuffled past Sam and Dean, the latter watching him with a sharp gaze as he headed towards the training site. When he believed the other man to be too far off to hear him, he turned towards Sam, placing both hands behind his back in that rest position.

"What is this about?"

Sam shifted uncomfortably. "I honestly don't know. Bishop probably got a hold of your personnel records, Dean. He must have sent CID to look into you. Just try to behave normally...and treat that guy with respect. You're not gonna get a passing eval if you don't keep your temper in check."

"My temper...is perfectly fine," Dean growled.

"Then unclench your jaw and be as you were, Sergeant," said Sam in a steely voice.

Dean remained standing there for a few moments longer, just keeping Sam in his sights. Eventually, it was he who broke first, turning on his heel and stiffly walking after the Agent.

* * *

"Since it's your first time, we expect more than a few misses...more than hits. The rifle in your hand is going to feel heavy. It's going to be somewhat of a bitch to hold onto it...but you'll get the hang of it."

Sergeant Harvelle, a young blonde woman was pacing a line in front of the recruits laying on their stomach, each holding a rifle level to their head. James was among them, and beside him was Balthazar. The other flashed a smile before pressing his eye to the scope.

Harvelle moved to the side and allowed them a minute to adjust. James took in everything. There was five targets in total. Each one further than the other. The first four remained stationary, but the very last one was high up in a nearby mountain top and it was moving from side to side. Additionally, this didn't have a single bullet hole in it like the others did.

"Fire on my mark," said Harvelle, raising a pistol high. Rather than saying it, she just fired off the pistol.

A quick succession of bullets followed her words. She was right, there was misses, the bullets flying past the targets by wide or close margins. Even as the noise around him continued to increase, the sounds of the bullet almost deafening...James still didn't fire.

She was right...it did feel heavy. He covered the basic on how to handle it...but still. He slowly pressed his eye to the scope and took in the first target. It hadn't been hit yet. Not by this team. He remained perfectly still until all he could really see in his line of sight was the red dot directly in the middle. A beat or two passed before he fired off a single shot. A second later, he saw the entire red dot disappear and just saw the terrain behind it.

"Good job!"

But James was already moving onto the next one, he closed one eye and fired a perfect shot directly into the heart of the target, never bothering to try again or aim for the same one. The same happened for the third and the fourth target. Then his scope was enhanced a bit to take in the moving fifth target.

He had to say, the movement was just annoying. Who would ever be standing like this? It was kind of amusing to think. Still...he accounted for the speed of his bullet...the movement of the target and where it was just about to be as opposed to where it just was.

A long breath left him and he fired off a single round, the rifle clicking loudly as he moved to cock it.

"Perfect! Perfect shot! That was you?" Harvelle stepped over the other men to get to him, hovering right above where he was lying. "Where did you learn to shoot like that? I've seen seasoned marines miss that target at least two or three times before getting it. You got it on the first try."

"Uh...yeah...I guess I did. I don't know how I did it. I guess it was just...logistics," said James, failing to find another word for it.

"Where's your Sergeant? Winchester! Get over here!" She turned around waved her arm over her head, calling someone to her left over. James moved to stand, placing the sniper rifle back on the mount just as Dean made to approach the two of them.

Before Dean could speak, Harvelle was still buttering him up. "He fired a perfect round. Every single target...including Lucy up there."

She pointed to the moving target and Dean glanced that way before his eyes went back to James.

"He's a natural," She said proudly, patting James on the shoulder.

"I see," Dean's lips pressed together as though he was fighting a smile, but James could still see it. He could see it in his eyes. That brightness and shine there that he had only seen one before. Pride. He was making the man proud of him.

James couldn't accurately describe how that felt. He had so rarely felt what he was feeling as well. Elation? They said there was never quite a feeling like being proud of yourself...and the joy that came from having someone important to you be proud of you.

That's what this felt like.

Dean stepped forward between them and placed his hand on James's shoulder too, fingers splaying lightly on his neck. "Still think you don't belong here, Novak?"

"No, sir...No, I don't believe that anymore, sir," said James, smiling up at him.

Dean moved to cup his face, thumb brushing lightly under his cheek. "Then I'd say today was a good day."


	8. VIII

The rest of the training week went pretty smoothly. It was the same routine every day. The goal was to pass every single training station with flying colors. He wouldn't say he passed with flying colors, but he was doing decent. James had more than excelled at the target practice. He had done the best he could with the obstacle course.

He didn't emerge from it with the best time of course. But he did decent. Certainly better than how he did the first time under Bishop.

It was a different feeling than what he had ever felt before. Pride in himself. It was done so rarely. Even as he grew up, excelling in all of his academics and sports. He was never complimented by his parents. His father was a firm believer that he could have done better. So whatever result he had already produced was "average" if it was not the best.

Here, it was almost a different world. There was a strange sort of light here. He had forever lived in that dark...desolate manor with no company but his own thoughts. No friends because according Novak Sr., no one he went to school with was an equal to him. Even though he wasn't an equal to the father. Which was just the definition of ironic.

There was something beautiful he felt inside when he saw the Sergeant smiling at him. He could never attribute Novak Sr's belief to Sergeant Winchester's. He could never believe that this man wasn't equal to him. Because that was all the man did was prove that he viewed James as an equal. By all counts, the Sergeant _should_ have been the superior in all counts, the one giving orders and having them followed.

But he didn't want James to adopt that feeling either. Maybe it was unconsciously done. There was just something very sincere in the man that James hadn't seen in anyone else.

Unfortunately, he didn't see much of the Sergeant after Monday afternoon. Ever since the new man in black had come to base, he was pretty tense. James had no idea who he was of course, but he could tell he was the reason for the Sergeant's sporiadic appearances. Whenever he did spot the Sergeant from a distance, he was seen with that man.

It gave him a twinge of unease...seeing it. The man wasn't military. At least not _official_ military. What was he doing here?

There was ample distraction however with the coming weekend. It was completely optional...you could stay at the base, but they were allowing recruits to travel home. They had given plenty of buffer time for people to notify their parents or legal guardians about it...and tonight was the pick-up date.

James still hadn't told his family about it. And he wasn't sure he wanted too either. He could stay here at the base, even if it was a lonely prospect. He wondered if the Sergeant was going to stay.

And his gaze fell on said Sergeant standing a distance away from the training site.

"This silent treatment benefits no one, Sergeant," said Trenton after a few moments of watching the recruits train. "You know this would go a lot easier on you if you would just cooperate."

"You've been here four days, Agent. I think it's safe to say your evaluation should be over," said Dean without looking at him.

"I'm sure you'd be happy if it was that easy," said Trenton, sounding amused.

"I don't rather like havin' a vulture follow me around all day, no," Dean answered coldly. "So I would be happy."

"What can I say?" Trenton held up his hands briefly as though in surrender." The military doesn't take kindly to armed robbery, Sergeant."

A growl left Dean's lips. "That was a long time ago...like I said. And nothing came of it."

"You do realize...this is supposed to be beneficial, Sergeant Winchester. The corp is merely looking out for their men. And to do that we need to make sure our men are fit...both physically and _mentally."_

 _"_ And yet you are holdin' me accountable for somethin' I did before I entered the service. I don't recognize whatever authority you think you have, Agent Trenton. And I certainly do not appreciate being snowballed in my own program," Dean snapped.

"You may not recognize my authority, Sergeant...but you would do well to **change** your tune."

Dean's eye twitched but he said nothing else on the matter. He cracked his neck to the side and moved to approach the training site.

"88, FALL IN."

The various members of platoon 88 began to break away from the variuous training stations to form up in lines.

"As you know...this weekend, you have the opportunity to leave the base for a short reprieve with your families before the final phase of the Initiative begins. I advise...that all of you take this opportunity. "

Like he usually did, he walked a line in front of them, then he started to move between the ranks.

"If only..." said Dean, stopping short of one of the other recruits, McLeod. "...for moral support."

Dean moved back to stand in front of the formation. They all watched as he did that familar stance that James was still calling 'politely still' in his head. His hands linked behind his back and his feet were aligned only slightly apart.

"You all are dismissed for the remainder of the day. You can choose to continue to train at Alpha site if you wish or you can return to your recruit barracks. It's up to you. Fall out."

Formation broke up and Dean was left standing by himself. James remained rooted in his spot for a moment just watching the Sergeant for a long moment. Part of him wanted to go over...but he didn't know what he'd tell the other man. What, he was going to be the only person staying behind?

Dumbfounded, James just kind of skulked as he lagged behind the others and headed towards the barracks. Mostly everyone had chosen to take these few hours of recreation to either nap or play basketball outside. Some people were watching, picking sides and cheering on certain players.

James took this opportunity to nap. He didn't want to hear everyone leave. He murmured a good night to Balthazar who was all too excited about returning home because he wanted to see his girlfriend. It felt good...to just shut out the world for a few hours. He always liked that he could drown out sound, no matter really how loud it was to just escape into sleep.

Sure he anticipated the base would be empty by the time he woke in the morning minus the staff...but he was okay with that. Least he wouldn't be woken up at the crack of dawn like he had been.

* * *

Luck wasn't on his side however and he woke up only a few hours later. He really wanted to be asleep the whole entire night...but one thing was for sure...there was no one around. He hadn't seen this barracks without platoon 88 since the first night.

He wasn't entirely sure what woke him. There wasn't a sound outside...just crickets chirping. From the little he could see through the doorway, it was...yes...empty.

James quickly went to the bathroom, thankful there wasn't a line. After he was done, he slipped on his usual camoflague and forest green tee, heading outside.

His assessment had been wrong before. There was noise here. He could hear something coming from the side of the barracks building. It was a slightly ringing and creaking sound. He recognized it from earlier. People were still here playing basketball? However, as James cut the corner, he saw it was someone alone.

Dean's last shot missed due to the distraction of seeing James cut the corner to him.

"Novak," said Dean in greeting, catching the ball and dribbling for a bit before making another shot and watching it swish through the basket. "What are you still doin' here?"

"I didn't notify my family of the opportunity, sir," said James, coming closer, but keeping to the sideline to avoid getting hit. Not that he anticipated getting hit...just that that was his typical experience in gym class when he was in middle school and high school...just purposely getting hit with the ball.

Perhaps that was why the Sergeant didn't even offer or ask if he played.

"Rather just have the base to yourself, huh?" Dean caught the ball and did that show off move of spinning the ball on one finger.

"I um...Yeah, I guess you could say that, sir."

Dean moved to approach, dropping the ball and letting it bounce and roll off in another direction. "Well...I guess that works to my advantage. I've been meanin' to talk to you."

"You did?"

Dean nodded, placing his hands on his hips. "Mmhm. I've been meanin' to tell you...that I'm proud of you. You did good this week. I knew you would...didn't doubt it for a second...but it was good to see. I'm...glad that you found something that you were good at...not just good at. Exceptional. That's the word I'm lookin' for."

He smiled in that way, adopting that adorable 'polite stillness' again that James couldn't help but sheepishly grin, his cheeks warming slightly.

"Thank you, sir," said James, working to draw attention away from the obvious blush that was showing under the white light.

"It feels good, right?" Dean asked. "Provin' everyone wrong. Somebody wants you to be something else so badly...that you have somethin' to push back with and say 'No, this is me.'"

"Yeah..," James agreed. "It does. It does feel..good."

"Good," said Dean, leaning forward to take his shoulder. "You're a good recruit, Novak. Believe that. Because I mean it. You don't have to be anythin'..you don't want to be. You don't have to do anythin' you don't want to do. You're your own person...and no one can make the difference but you. There are billions and billions of people on this planet and there is only one you."

Dean's hand lowered where his knuckles brushed over James's chest where the Sergeant would no doubt feel the rapidly beating heart.

"And now that I've seen what you can do...I know there's nothin' that can stop you from being the best you that you can be. That strength of heart..it doesn't exist in just anyone. It's rare. You're rare...You understand that, right?"

James sniffed, staring into the other man's eyes. It was easy to get lost here...to just believe him for the sake of believing in something regarding himself. He was used to having a low or no opinion on himself. Before his father's abuse, there was no opinion. After...he could readily say he had hit rock bottom and he was still sinking. There was no way to see the light from how far he had fallen.

Now...just listening to this man...he could believe him...just soak in every word he was saying. Make him feel like he was someone who mattered.

He realized this man was the light above in that endless darkness. The light that was so desperately trying to dispel the darkness and pull him from it. The light that was trying to shelter him with warmth from an icy grip.

"I...understand," James nodded after a moment.

"Good...," Dean smiled and pulled his hand away to straighten himself. He moved to take a step back but James was already missing the contact and he closed the distance between the two of them, arms wrapping around the Sergeant in a tight grip. His ear pressed against the man's chest, listening to the sound of a calmed heartbeat. He basked in the warmth there...enjoying every minute of it.

"Thank you...Thanks for everything. For saying what you're saying...for all you've done. I know...I know this isn't appropriate...but I wanted to say it anyway. It means a lot..hearing it from you,"

A moment or two passed as Dean recovered from some shell-shock before he wrapped his arms around James in return, one hand sliding upward to absently slide through his hair.

"If you have to thank me...you can take into consideration that we _are_ among the few still at base," said Dean, pulling away slightly to gauge James's expression before he pulled away entirely and dug into his pocket and extended a card for James to take.

"This is an ice skating rink that's nearby...You ever skate?"

"No...never."

"That's a shame. Well...still room to learn, Novak. How about I pick you up out front at around 1200? Gives you time to sleep."

James's cheeks flushed a bit again, but he couldn't help the smile. "I'd...I'd like that. I'll be there."

"See you then. Don't be late or I'm takin' points off your eval," Dean gave him a pretend-sinister look before he started walking backwards into the darkness and disappeared entirely, leaving James with that warmth in where he had been.


	9. IX

James tried not to think of Dean's proposition as what it really _really_ sounded like. A **date**. Technically their first one if you wanted to be real about it. He wouldn't count the Sergeant taking him out to the bar not too long ago. That was more of a spur of the moment thing.

But as he settled in for bed that night, all of his old anxieties began to settle inside of him once again. What if the Sergeant didn't even think of him like that? What if what he sought was strictly platonic? Or worse...paternal? Or even brotherly. He had heard through the grapevine that Sam was his _younger_ brother.

Maybe that was all the Sergeant was seeking from him, another younger brother. The Initiative was a program started by him to help discipline rebellious youth after all. Maybe he wanted to be everyones older sibling.

The thought caused his chest to tighten as he closed his eyes, struggling to sleep. He knew he was probably jumping the gun...but what if he was right? What was he going to do then? There was something of a humorless laugh in his head that wondered why he expected anything else.

No, no...He shouldn't be thinking this. He should give the Sergeant a chance. Guess the only way to find out was to see how this ice skating outing went. Which just painfully reminded James of how he couldn't skate.

Thinking was getting to be annoying. He just closed his eyes and willed himself to go to sleep. Eventually it worked.

* * *

It felt good to get a good nights sleep. James sat up, yawning as he stretched his arms out. Once again, he found he rather liked that there was no one else but him in the barracks. He had a bit of a spring to his step as he made to approach the bathroom, cleaning himself up. He checked his wrist watch to catch that it was about an hour until noon. He had overslept.

But he wasn't too worried about it. As he went back to his bed, he was struck with the prospect of what to wear. They were off duty. He shouldn't be thinking about wearing his military uniform, should he? He wondered if the Sergeant was going to be wearing his.

When the Initiative started, he was told to only bring the clothes on his back. The corp would provide everything else. So all James had in terms of civilian clothing...was the clothes he had come to the base with.

Which was a little embarrassing. It showed his character to the Sergeant...and he wondered what he'd think of him. He pulled the clothes from his duffel and laid them out on his bed. Black t-shirt, black jeans. He kind of figured he'd look like he was heading to a funeral more than he was heading to a date.

And then he was struck with an idea. He shamelessly approached Balthazar's bunk and pulled out a blank white t-shirt. Better than what he had. He slipped it on and walked outside, blinded by the noon sun. He still had a little time so he wasn't expecting to find Sergeant Winchester outside.

And he certainly wasn't expecting to find that man that had been seen around the Sergeant there either. But there he was, casually leaning against the barracks wall when James exited them. His eyes were covered by lenses as usual, but the way he was inclined towards the door, his head in James's direction, it was like he had been waiting for the young man to come out.

James was set on ignoring the man as he passed him, but he knew he wouldn't be so lucky.

"You seem to be in a good mood," said the agent.

"Ahh...sir?" James fumbled.

"Spring in your step...rosy cheeks. It's a good thing," said Agent Trenton, leaning off the wall and taking the few steps towards James. "I guess I'd be the same way too if I was asked out by the prettiest face on the base."

James froze for a moment, eyes deadlocked on the Agent, who was smiling openly at his discomfort. He watched him dig into his pocket and retrieve a cigarette. He popped it between his teeth and lit the end. James meanwhile worked to compose his expression and keep his voice from coming out in a hiss.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Please...I'm not military. Well...not really. There's no reason to call me sir. I'm Agent Trenton. It's a pleasure to meet you," He extended his hand towards James who unknowingly did the same thing Dean did. He just stared at the extended hand for a moment until the agent awkwardly pulled it back.

"...think they'd have more manners. Anyway. You're an Initiative recruit, right? Kinda curious seeing you look so cozy with Sergeant Winchester last night. In fact...that's not the first I've seen it. On top of all the other evidence...well...to put it bluntly, the two of you seem... _involved_ ," said Agent Trenton, taking a long drag off his cigarette and blowing out a cloud of smoke.

"Pardon me...," said James pointedly, hinting he heard what the other man previously muttered about manners. "...but what _exactly_ is it to you what I do with Sergeant Winchester?"

"Well...I am sort of conducting an ongoing investigation into the Sergeant's doings here. You classify as part of the investigation. He seems to find you interesting...for some reason. And what _he_ finds interesting, I find curious," Trenton answered. "...For example. I've looked into your file. You have a colorful history. A very colorful history for someone so young. You might have the most wordy file I've seen out of a recruit...who doesn't classify as military yet."

James flushed a little. "You're right. I'm not military. So there's nothing wrong with anything he and I are doing."

"Oh, I never said there was," And yet Trenton was still smiling in that annoyingly...disturbing way. "...But I suppose I would be remiss if I didn't warn you about him to some level. I can see why he has an interest in you. I can. People like that, however...they don't change. No matter what they tell themselves."

James crossed his arms defiantly. "...Change from what?"

"From their past,"

"And does Sergeant Winchester know you're approaching people he's associated with in this manner?"

"I don't really care if he does or doesn't," Trenton shrugged. "You can tell him I was here. You can tell him everything I said. He knows why I'm here...and deep down...he knows I'm right too. I hate to be the bearer of bad news to you, kid. I really do. But you deserve to know the truth...and trust me, you deserve a lot better than a man like that."

"I'll make that decision myself," said James. "Besides, aside from telling me he's not going to change from...whatever...you haven't given me any other information to believe he's anything less than the man I know him to be."

Trenton seemed amused by this, coming close enough now that he had James backing against the wall. His hand was extended and placed against the wall next to James's head for support. "If you think I'm wrong...why don't _you_ ask him to open up to you? I'm sure you've told him things you would never dare tell another soul. Confided in him. You've bared a part of your soul that no one else can see. Do what you want...make that decision. But trust me on this...violent people don't change their violent ways. No relationship...no matter what kind it is...how strong it is. No relationship can exist without complete honesty."

Trenton left him then and James was left watching him leave with a sour look on his face. He didn't want the man's words to get to him, because that's exactly what the agent wanted happening. He wanted James to have doubts in Sergeant Winchester.

And he still couldn't wrap his mind around why. It seemed oddly personal and not at all professional. If he was some kind of law enforcement, what was with the personal vendetta?

* * *

The Sergeant arrived a few moments later, well after Trenton had disappeared from view. The black Impala stopped with the engine running right in front of him. James got a good view of the Sergeant in his civilian clothing...well at least partially. He was wearing black, which made James kind of feel bad that he didn't just go with what he had. From what he could see through the window, he was wearing a black Nautica t-shirt that was cut nice around the neck. It was like that shirt that James admired on the first day.

"Hey," said James, scrambling a bit to add the last part. "Sir. Hello, sir."

"We're off the clock, Novak. Drop the 'sir'," said Dean chidingly. He nodded towards his passenger seat. James nodded sheepishly before walking around the car to slide inside over the familiar leather.

"So should I call you...Sergeant, then?"

"Dean," He corrected, looking amused.

It was hard, when he was smiling like that, without even looking at James and staring ahead to the road. It was hard to think that he was what Agent Trenton made him out to be. Someone violent...someone who one should be careful around. He radiated such warmth in his easy smile. It was simply impossible to think the man was capable of something worse.

All of a sudden, James felt guilty for humoring the Agent for even a millisecond...and another part of him felt guilty for not mentioning the conversation straight away.

But he feared the outcome. He wasn't fearing that the Agent had been right and he was dealing with someone violent...but that it would ruin whatever was to come from this outing. They were too near the base right now that Winchester could turn right around, drop him off and avoid him for the rest of the program.

Perhaps that was again...jumping to conclusions. But it didn't seem logical when he figured it _could_ happen.

"So you're going to be calling me James then?" James lightly teased.

Dean frowned a little. "...I could. If that's what you prefer. James. "

"I mean...there is my real name...before I was adopted...but I don't know if you'll laugh at it or not," said James quietly.

Dean's frown deepened. "...Why would I laugh at you?"

And he seemed honestly offended at the prospect. James shook his head. "I don't really think you will. It's just not a normal name."

"What is it?"

James hesitated, opening his mouth and closing it quickly. The silence stretched long enough that Dean chanced a glance his way.

"C'mon, Novak. Or it's staying Novak until your dying day,"

James mumbled something then that sounded like Gabriel. Dean leaned in towards him, squinting slightly.

"What?"

"It's...It's uh...It's Castiel, sir," said James, sighing for a moment. "...Sorry...I know it's hard."

"What was it, again?"

"Castiel. My mother...I think she was like...super religious. Or maybe she read it in a book. I don't know what it means. I think it's the name of an angel. One of the hundreds out there," said James, shrugging. "Everyone I've told it to has said it sounds foreign...or like a sneeze."

Dean mulled that over for a minute. "Well...you're not wrong. It kinda does. But a good sneeze. A happy sneeze."

James smiled a bit. "I don't think there's such a thing."

"Well...Anyway...do you prefer if I call you Castiel or James? Or Novak?"

"Either one is fine...I mean when you say my real name it doesn't sound so bad,"

"Give me some time to see what I'm comfortable with. Don't be surprised if I use all three...or throw in a fourth name randomly," Dean grinned.

"I'm fine with whatever you choose to call me," said James gently.

"Castiel. I'm joking. That's your birth name," And there was a slight edge in Dean's tone that made Castiel a little curious. He wondered if the other was thinking the same thing he was...that James Novak was a family name and Castiels's family was truly not his own. After he told the Sergeant the truth, he wouldn't blame the other for holding a sour opinion on Novak Sr.

The rest of the car ride was pretty quiet. Dean was taking him on the other side of town...away from the bar he had taken Castiel to before. This was the city and the streets were full of cars. Castiel had been through downtown before, especially when he was forced to come meet his father at his office building...but this place seemed to look different when there wasn't a feeling of impending dread behind it.

In the silence, he tried not to think of what Agent Trenton had said to him. He tried not to let it all bother him. He focused instead on the other man's silhouette as he relaxed, holding the wheel loosely from the bottom with one hand. He seemed to be in a good mood too and James liked to think that he was just happy to be with him too.

They were finally stopped at a place that was simply titled 'Diamonds Ice Rink' with a cartoon diamond and cursive writing. Castiel hesitated as he gripped the door handle, looking towards his companion nervously.

"I wasn't kidding. I don't know how to skate."

"Your partner does. That's what matters. Unless you'd rather I take you to a paintball game," Dean answered.

"Yeah, see...I have a better chance of excelling at that. There seems to be a low chance of falling on my ass. Pardon my French," said Castiel.

Dean laughed. "You obviously haven't played a lot of paintball games. But you are right...you'd probably kick my ass at it. Maybe next time."

He exited the car, leaving Castiel slightly puzzled as he left the car too and came over to the other side, his hands in his pockets as they walked side by side to the entrance.

"Next time? Is there going to be a next time?"

"I have a feeling you'll be sayin' yes...so yes," said Dean, giving Castiel a side-eyed cocky grin. Castiel shook his head as the other man walked forward ahead of him when they entered. The arena was large and the lobby area reminded him of a bowling place. He could see people of all ages here occupying the benches, trading their shoes for those...bladed ones.

As usual, whenever Castiel got nervous, he began to babble. "...Did you ever hear about the hockey player who slipped and had his fingers cut by a passing player on skates?"

"I wouldn't be surprised. Hockey is a rough game," Dean replied. He cocked his eyebrow at the young man before chuckling, amused despite himself. "...Ease up, Novak. I told you I'm here with you. Nothin's gonna happen to you while I'm here."

"Right," said Castiel, unconvinced. Dean got their skates after a thorough visual analysis of Castiel's feet and led Castiel over to a bench where he began to take off his shoes and trade them off. Very hesitantly, Castiel took a seat beside the other man and did the same, except maybe three times slower.

"I wanna apologize ahead of time in case I drag you to the ground," said Castiel quickly.

"You're not,"

At least he sounded confident. He was already up and waiting for Castiel to finish. Once he did, the private was filled with that anxiety that made his chest hurt. It was all too soon they were approaching the entrance to the rink and he was faced with the inevitable.

"Is it okay if I keep holding onto the edge of the circle? I think I like the edge. The wall...provides good support and it's smooth. Yeah I'mma do that," said Castiel, without waiting for an answer. He barely skated an inch before he was already wobbling. He reached out and grabbed Dean's wrist beside him for support.

There was others passing them...staring at him, probably finding him weird...or them weird. Probably feeling bad for Dean. His cheeks flushed. He hated the attention. People were going to laugh.

Dean wasn't looking at them...for all the people here, they didn't exist. With complete ease, he turned to face Castiel and took him underneath the arms in a strange type of embrace. They started to glide, but their movement was severely hindered with how muscle locked Castiel was.

Castiel scrambled to get a hold of Dean around the shoulders. He must have looked like a child clinging to a parent which only enhanced the lingering thoughts from last night that this was all platonic...and not a date. Yeah, he was a walking catastrophe of panic, sue him.

"Look at me...Look," Dean waited for him to comply, waited for him to finally man up and meet his gaze. Dean's voice was gentle. "That's it...Good. Relax...that's good. Just take it easy. We're goin' to be just fine, okay? You and me. Just you and me. Focus on me."

He was already doing that. But he tried to do it more...just focus on the other man's voice...on how it made him feel...and how this moment felt when they were so close like this. A deep breath escaped his lips and he closed his eyes for a long moment.

When his eyes opened, there was less tension he knew. The other man was smiling down at him.

"That's good...You're doin' good. Most people out here...don't know what they're doin' either. They're just doin' the circle thing. They can just hide it better," said Dean.

"I don't know how to pretend I know what I'm doing," said Castiel.

"It's a life lesson," said Dean, leaning down so that their faces were inches apart. His voice lowered. "Do you trust me?"

"...I...Yes...Yes, I trust you,"

Maybe that was the wrong answer. The next second he was released and the other man only held onto his hand. He sped up ahead of him, using the circle route or so it seemed, but then as he gained momentum, he let go of Castiel's hand.

All Castiel could do was take the momentum that had been forced upon him. He saw the impending crash into the wall and closed his eyes.

But it never came. His hand was gripped all of a sudden again and before he could hit the wall, he was spun back around, doing a little twirl until he was pulled into the circle of the other man's arms again. It was a strange sort of dance maneuver. Smoothly done, he had to admit.

Castiel heard people clapping for them...but all he could focus on how was how hard his heart was beating...and how hard he was clinging to the Sergeant with both hands tight around his shoulders. He was pretty sure he was close to bruising him. And his heart beat...so loud in his chest. Surely the other could hear it when they were so close like this.

And it struck Castiel right there and then...as he looked into the man's eyes...saw the gentle warmth he was getting accustomed with...just how dishonest he was being. He didn't want to ruin anything...but he didn't want to lie to the other man either.

 _No relationship can exist without complete honesty._

"I was approached by Agent Trenton," said Castiel. His words came out swift, as though he were trying to remove the shock of it like ripping off a bandaid. He saw the Sergeant's eyebrows come together in confusion and some surprise register there. His whole body stiffened and Castiel half expected to be dropped completely.

Yet Dean didn't have that kind of mentality. He tightened his hold on Castiel instead and started tugging him to his side while he led them to an exit. It was a mostly isolated part and he wasted no time approaching a bench to take off his shoes. Castiel moved to do the same and by the time he had sat down, Dean was finished, standing up again to keep his back to Castiel.

It was obviously hard to read him like this...but the stern set of his shoulders, the overall stance spoke volumes. He was tensed as though he was ready to fight. Already Castiel was mentally beating himself for saying that little sentence that was on the verge of ruining everything.

"I'm sorry. He didn't tell me much. I guess he was trying to warn me...I don't get it. I'm not listening to him. Because it doesn't matter to me, De-Sergeant. It doesn't. I don't care what happened...whatever it is. I really don't. I still want to..."

Castiel trailed off, uncertain. The other man remained silent for so long, he could only guess his train of thought.

"...He's right," Dean placed a hand flat against the wall, his head down. "He was right to tell you that. This...what we're doin'...it's not right."

And just like that, Castiel felt a plummeting sensation in his stomach. He took a sharp intake of breath to keep himself grounded but even that didn't shake off the sick feeling he was starting to feel.

He worked to steady himself. "...Why do you say that? You're helping me...All you've done is help me. I don't care about whatever investigation he's doing or what he thinks of you as a person. It doesn't change my opinion."

Dean shook his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I'm not sayin' this to hurt you. I'm still going to help you."

"Why now, then? Because it's your job?" Castiel stood up. "It's always been your job. Is that what it's been this whole time? Am I just a product of your duties as a Sergeant?"

"It's not like that," said Dean, turning around to face him. He took a few steps closer, and his hands were suddenly braced on Castiel's shoulders. "In the beginning...maybe...but it's not like that anymore and that's...that's dangerous. For you."

Castiel wanted to summon the strength to break free of his hold on him. "...What is it now? I have...I have never been as happy...as I am when I'm with you. Don't I have a say in this?"

"You being happy here..now...with me?...That's how it starts...but it's not how it ends,"

"...Why? Why are you saying this?"

"Because I...," Dean's lips parted and he paused for a moment, struggling with words. "...I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't."

"You don't _know_ that."

"I do," Castiel took a hold of his wrist. "You saw something in me...that no one else did. I see the same thing with you. You don't want to hurt me...but I **don't** want to lose you. If that's selfish...then I'm sorry. But it is the truth."

Dean sighed then and his gaze drew downward. He felt his grip on his shoulders slacken and he dropped his hands, giving Castiel a long look before turning his back on him. "...Come on...I'll take you back to base."


	10. X

**18 Years Ago**

It was the best day ever for Dean Winchester. As much as it would be for a six year old going on seven. He had no hesitation in approaching his parents' bed while they were sleeping. He only gave them the mercy of a few seconds of sleep before he proceeded to jump head first onto the middle, crawling up to the top.

The impact made them both wake up, groggy head slowly rising to peer at Dean. John rolled over underneath the comforter and grumbled to himself. That didn't deter the boy in the slightest, his tiny frame now snug between them. His mother sat up first, her blond curls looking golden in the sunlight coming from the nearby window. She planted a kiss on her son's forehead.

"Happy birthday, baby."

Dean gave her a wide smile before hugging her around the waist. The movement finally made John wake up and turn to the other side.

His mother kept his attention on her. "We have a very fun day planned for you, Dean."

"Mary," said John chidingly before Dean could respond. "...I thought I told you we were keeping it quiet. Just a small party with the four of us."

"Oh...have a heart, John. It's his birthday. He should be able to do what he wants."

"You're spoiling him, Mary," said John, but there was nothing reprimanding about his tone. He lightly poked Dean's stomach. "Seven, huh, boy? Almost two digits. You're a big boy now. We're not going to be treating you like a child anymore. We already got one on the way. That makes you the big big brother now, right?"

"Right!" Dean shouted cheerily, placing his hand flat on Mary's protruding abdomen where he felt a small kick in response from his sibling. "I'm gonna be your big brother, Adam."

"Good. Good boy. Now run along and get ready."

Dean practically bounced off the bed as he scrambled for the door. Just as he hit the doorway, he nearly bumped into a much smaller frame. A boy with brown hair in Buzz Lightyear pajama set, clutching a teddy bear by the hand.

"I wanna go too!"

"You're too young!"

"But Dean!"

"No, Sammy! You're not allowed!"

Dean was full of excitement as he dashed for his room and pulled on clothes. He heard his younger brother voice a whiny complaint to his parent and just shook his head. Maybe he was being a little selfish...but this was a promised day. His mother had promised him this would be the activity they were going to do on his birthday. Just the two of them.

And she came through on that promise as she took his hand and led him to the car. She gave Sam a parting kiss and blew one to her husband now in the garage.

What Dean couldn't anticipate was the stormy weather the closer they got to the intended campsite. She had checked the weather for their home area...not this one. She gave Dean a small smile before turning on the windshield wipers and continuing onward.

And Dean...was just being Dean. He found sitting in the backseat more a luxury than a punishment or a sign that he might have been too active. He kept poking his mother, despite her distraction to get her to look behind at him.

"Mommy's very busy, okay? Mommy's trying to concentrate. Please do me a favor and just-"

Dean saw the flash of headlights in the window before it happened. It was the clearest part of the memory...because it was the very last seconds he saw his mother alive. The force of the metal impacting their car caused the boy to slam into his car door, the windows shattering and slashing through his body. They were immobile for less than a microsecond before the car toppled over completely.

He remembered reaching for her...reaching for his mother, the glass having cut into his eyes. He felt around, a hand patting through cold concrete that was wet with a strange warmth. The crushing reality could not settle onto him, because his mind simply could not comprehend it...could not - would not understand it. And he was almost thankful then...that the darkness closed in around him.

He woke up in the hospital...

 _Screaming._

Wanting to die.

The paramedics pried from his hand something he had been unconsciously holding before they arrived. A single golden locket around his mother's neck that contained a photo of the Winchester family.

* * *

 **Present Day**

Dean was clutching the same locket in the palm of his hand, the chain hanging loose between his fingers. He stared up at his ceiling of the secluded barracks, just watching each blade on the fan above him move until it gave him a worse headache than the one he went to bed with.

He covered his face with both hands and let out a loud sigh. He had long since past the age where the memory would tear him from his sleep and wake him screaming in rage and despair, having to be held down and sedated sometimes.

That didn't deplete the horror of it...the shock. The pain that drove him down a dark path for so many years because he simply did not care any longer. It did not matter that his family had never and would never view him that way.

It was how he viewed himself. A murderer. The boy who murdered his mother...and his unborn brother. The weight of it caused his chest to ache.

It was why the Initiative began...and unfortunately was also the reason why Agent Trenton was present on base. The death of his mother and brother had Dean Winchester labeled as delinquent. No amount of military discipline applied by John...or even consequences given by the school districts he had had to go through...could phase him.

Dean found himself eventually, through extensive mental excercise and attempts to calm his mind. It worked...to keep him functioning, to keep him playing the role of the obedient Sergeant, the obedient son and the protective brother. It worked to keep the memory from suffocating him...forcing him down the dark path again.

He didn't know why he remembered it now...but he replaced the chain in his pocket, holding onto the warm metal to keep himself grounded.

Regardless of the reason why...someone deserved an explanation. He sat up from the bed and retrieved his jacket, making a beeline for the door.

Before Dean could get off the last step, he stopped, retracting his foot to stand. A moment was taken while he drew out a loose cigarette and stuck it between his teeth, lighting the end. Fumes rose from the end through a cloud of smoke.

"That's a really bad habit," Trenton finally made a move to his right, leaning off the outside barrack wall to slip into Dean's line of sight.

"Look, I don't know how to tell ya this...but I'm not that into you. So if you could just lay off my dick for a while, that'd be great," said Dean, taking care to let his last drag shroud Trenton almost completely in smoke.

Trenton ignored the snide remark and hardly flinched at the dismissive action. "Going to that boy? That...Novak boy?"

Dean's eye twitched just a little, but he moved to step onto level ground, satisfied with just ignoring this stubborn prick for the rest of the night.

Trenton stopped him again, moving to stand behind Dean. "Broken people attract broken people. I can get on board with that. Doesn't mean it's healthy...or that it'll last. In the long run, that is."

"I think you're divin' too deep into a simple job, Agent," Dean should have been more offended. The simple statement indicated just how perceptive the agent had been thus far. He didn't let it raise his hackles, however. Not yet. "I know you're here to investigate me. Pretty sure my personal life is off limits."

"Actually...it's not," said Trenton. "Your personal life matters, Sergeant. Everything matters in _these_ types of investigations. "

"All I can tell you...is that I'm a different person now. What I'm doing here. Whether you approve of it or not...is irrelevant. But what I'm doing is not illegal...it's not wrong."

"You didn't really see 'right' from 'wrong' when you were robbing convenience stores and restaurants with your buddies," Trenton shrugged lightly. "Taking your daddy's guns from his study and threatening people point blank with them."

It felt like Dean was saying this for the hundredth time. "...That was _still_ a long time ago. I told you that. It's different now. And I had my reasons for that...phase. I'm still not doin' anything wrong. You won't find any of that here...so you may as well pack your shit up and put a passing grade on your inspection papers, agent."

Trenton just looked at Dean for a long time with an unreadable expression. It was his job to investigate, to see motive and wrongdoing. That was what Dean thought, and in that moment he wondered if that was what the agent was doing, just waiting for something subtle. An eyetwitch, a tremble maybe. Something to indicate that Dean was incorrect.

"...We'll see. Let's you and me talk about your 'grade' after this program ends," Trenton smiled. For a moment, Dean thought he was going to ask for a handshake. But he just turned and started walking away, peering at Dean over his shoulder as he went. "...and I'm really rooting for your boy. Novak. I hope he makes you proud."

Dean just watched as he was left behind, the agent slinking away in the darkness. He was left alone to debate the other man's intentions - wait - he didn't want to do that _at all_ , really. So he just crushed his cigarette underneath his boot and kept walking to his destination.

* * *

The ride back to base had to be the most awkward Castiel had ever felt. Midst feeling so awkward, however, he was feeling a heartbreaking sense of dread that was threatening to make him numb to all else. Dean's words kept echoing in his mind.

 _What we're doing isn't right._

His eyes stung and it took all the effort in the world to not break from the sheer weight of what had been said. He didn't want to be one of those people that had grew so dependent on someone else that he found himself crumbling without them. It wasn't right. He should have been able to stand on his own two feet even without Dean.

That wasn't to say the man hadn't helped him...hadn't had a significant impact on Castiel's growing confidence. He did. But he shouldn't allow the rejection of him to feel like this He didn't want to let it. All the while they were heading back to base, Castiel was mentally berating himself and trying hard to work on a mantra for himself starting with how he _didn't_ care...that it didn't matter and he could handle the rest of the Initiative time he had left.

Sleep was hard that night. Even though it wasn't even technically night. He had no energy to do anything else for today...except lie down, toss and turn and hope something resembling sleep happened.

He got lucky. Maybe. he was dozing off on his side, gripping a handful of his pillow and working hard to avoid throughts of Sergeant Winchester and his stupid accent telling him that they couldn't be anything...ever. He didn't want to let himself label it all as heartbreak...because they were never officially an item to start with.

Castiel wasn't in deep enough sleep to lack awareness of his surroundings completely. The sound of the footsteps approaching had him waking up...but he didn't open his eyes on the intruder just yet. Only when it was close enough that it had to be right at his side.

He opened his eyes, taking the Sergeant in at full, watching as he took a seat on Balthazar's empty bed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Sergeant..."

"What happened...," Dean began, sighing a bit in frustration to find the right words. "...What happened earlier. I'm sorry...I didn't mean for it to come out like that. I didn't mean to sound cruel...or to hurt you. Or for you to think..it was your fault or somethin'."

"Sergeant, I wasn't..."

"You were...," Dean nodded without really looking at him. "You were because I've felt the same way before. Not feelin' good enough or like you matter the slightest bit. I felt it. It's not easy. It's just a really...bad spiral. You hit yours and I was hittin' mine."

Castiel moved to sit up in the bed. Dean took that as an assurance to move forward until he was kneeling infront of the Private.

"I've done things in the past that I ain't proud of. Hell, I'll never be proud of what I used to do in the past. I was a stupid kid. You told me of your past...and maybe I kinda pushed you to it. I knew you needed someone to tell...and I was glad it was me. I guess it's only right I tell you somethin' about me too. Especially if we...," Dean trailed off, uncertain how to conclude that sentence, because he had no idea how Novak was going to react or what was going to come from this. At least it would be said and done.

When Dean couldn't speak, Castiel interjected, placing his hand over Dean's. "You don't have to tell me anything that you're not comfortable telling me, Sergeant. We all have a right to our privacy. I'm sorry that I even brought up that...man on our time together. I ruined the moment."

Dean was already shaking his head. "You didn't ruin anything. I told you not to put this on yourself. It's not your fault."

"I'm sorry," Castiel murmured.

Dean smiled faintly. "I told you to stop doing that too...but...anyway. My mother...she died when I was very young. An... _accident."_

The word struggled on his tongue for a moment. It had been thrown around so often since it happened, yet he never once believed it. The word only came out because he couldn't rightly admit what he percieved to be the actual truth. That it was him...that he took her life.

He cleared his throat, a muscle in his jaw locking. "...When it happened, I made some decisions. Dumb...stupid...careless decisions. I went down a bad path. Things are different for me now. I'm not that dumb kid. I'm different."

Castiel paused, taking it in for a moment and eyeing the man's earnest expression, just begging Castiel for a chance. And who was he to deny him? He felt the man's hand tremble underneath his and it took a great deal of resistance to stop himself from doing what the other man had done to him to calm him down. He wanted to touch him...hold his face and wipe away that vulnerable look forever.

He let out a soft sigh and wrapped his fingers around Dean's, keeping their eyes locked. "I'm sorry. About your mother. I'm sorry you had to go through that...and I understand. I would never hold it against you."

"I'm not tellin' you this to garner pity...I hope you know that. I'm tellin' you this...because it's not easy for me either. To open up about this kind of stuff, to talk about it. My family...they never want to talk about it. They never know what could...set me off. I'm telling you because you're new for me too."

Dean placed his other hand over Castiel's, bringing it up to his lips. "And I want to give that a chance. I do. I think I need it. I need you."

It was words Castiel had never really heard before. Just three words that almost held the same weight as the deepest attachment there was. To hear it from his lips had Castiel feeling like he had just stepped onto cloud nine. He leaned in towards the Sergeant as well, their foreheads brushing.

"And I need you. I want to give us a chance too."

Unconsciously, he turned his head just the slightest, his lips brushing over Dean's cheek. He felt the man move back a few centimeters, catching his gaze. The smallest smile there before their lips met in a sweet kiss. Castiel raised a hand to thread the man's hair, nudging him to tilt his head for deeper access. Almost too soon, the heat he felt, the warmth from the other man was gone.

Dean took a breath, a tongue sliding over his lower lip. "Good. Now get some rest. You have an exam coming up. And you better not slack. Just cause we're...doin' this now doesn't mean I won't make you drop and give me a hundred."

"Come on, Sergeant...," Castiel whined, but Dean was already getting up, pinching Castiel's cheek with a chuckle before he left the barracks.


	11. XI

Castiel was sleeping soundly in the bed, lingering on thoughts of Dean and their first kiss. It was amazing how a few simple words…a simple kiss could take him from the most self-depreciating train of thought he ever had…to the top of the world. He felt like nothing could shake him. Even the exam that was coming up the following day couldn't faze him.

He was still on cloud nine when the trumpet sounded for them to wake up. It felt like he had barely fallen asleep before they were being forced awake. He nearly rolled off his bed and hit the floor. The dorm had refilled in the peak hours and Castiel felt bad for the other men and women who had just arrived only to be deprived of the small amount of sleep they could get.

The uniform at the end of his bed was not the one he had been using so far for training. It was a slight variant of it, heavy as he picked it out of his dresser. There was heavy greens and brown in it and padding attached to the knees of his pants and to the elbow part of the shirt. A combat uniform.

They dressed quickly and almost haphazardly as they made their way outside where the other recruits were already getting into formation. Castiel followed suit and scowled heavily when he felt fat raindrops hit the top of his head. Perfect weather for a field exam gone bad. Maybe.

It wasn't right to assume the worst before everything began but maybe the pessimist side of Castiel would take some tries to wear down. As they got into formation, he spotted Dean standing ahead of them. In early morning darkness and rain, it was hard to see his expression.

Once they were still, the Sergeant addressed them. "Today is your field exam, Troop 88. We are leaving at 0600 to a secured location where the other Sergeants and myself will conduct the exam. Once we arrive at our destination, you will be briefed on your mission parameters. I expect the best out of all of you. Use the training you've learned in the last few weeks…use your head. Be sharp. I have every confidence that you'll succeed."

Dean moved to walk among them, hands interlocked behind his back. "We have a method in the corp. Your mission is not done until it is a complete. The same rules will apply here. You are not done until your objective is complete, is that understood?"

He heard a resounding 'Yes, sir!" that he nodded at before placing both hands behind himself again. "Head to the parking lot. Fall out."

They all did as they were told. There was no time to linger and speak with the Sergeant this time, or even really exchange a look with him. As soon as the order to fall out was given, he was turning and walking with his back to his troops where some other commanding officers were standing. One of them Castiel recognized as Gordon, Dean's friend.

There were several dark green trucks lined up and people were already climbing inside to get out of the rain. Castiel followed Balthazar to the very last one where only a few people were inside. The confined space inside made him feel like he had claustrophobia.

The ride was mostly in silence. Castiel didn't expect it to be so long. He started falling asleep, wrapping his camo jacket closer around himself and shutting his eyes. It was a brief reprieve to remove the sting from his eyes while moving steadily as the truck went over bad patches on the road.

At least two hours passed until they finally came to a stop and the driver moved around the front of the truck to open up the back and allow the men inside to file out. As they were stepping down into the light, Castiel was surprised to see how soft the ground was when he stepped on it. Then he took in his surroundings and realized they were in the middle of a forest. There was a small little clearing where everything had been set up. Other people were disembarking as well, taking a look around. At least it wasn't raining _here_. At least not anymore. He could see the shine on the grass where it had just stopped.

Good thing there really wasn't room around them to get into formation here. Still, he was feeling true nervousness now. Just how real was the field exam going to be? He looked to Balthazar following his gaze to weapon racks situated to their right.

"Do you know anything about what to expect from this field exam?"

"Not too much. You know I haven't talked to anyone outside of our troop though. I don't think the older recruits; the actual marines, would give us time of day. They look at us like we're wannabes," said Balthazar, shrugging. He seemed more relaxed than Castiel was certainly.

"I don't really care what _they_ look at us like…I'm more concerned with what could happen today. What if it's dangerous? What if we fail?"

"Guess we'll never know until we find out…and those who don't try will never know," said Balthazar, squinting down at Castiel with a 'wise' look.

"Okay, Yoda," said Castiel, rolling his eyes.

"Look…don't sweat it. All of what they were saying to scare you was actually to just pump you up. Lighten up, okay? Everything is going to be fine. We're not the first of the program, remember? Tons of people have done this before us. That should make you feel a _little_ better, huh?

"I know…but…"

"Shh,"

Balthazar hushed him just as Sergeant Winchester climbed out of his truck, took in their surroundings and ordered the troop to gather around him. There were still some stragglers and as Castiel looked over the heads of the others and saw a number similar to the ones from his own troop. There was another platoon here.

But it was hard to pay mind to that when Dean was speaking to them. The man could command attention, whether Agent Trenton implied otherwise or not, he was sort of like a born leader. Not that Castiel was trying to analyze him and _not_ pay attention to what was being said.

"This forest is for lack of a better word…massive. Your objective, Platoon 88, is ultimately to retrieve a package that is located in the center of the designated area."

The Sergeant broke his gaze from them, his eyes going past the troop towards the truck he had just left where Gordon was unloading and throwing large black backpacks onto the ground. Judging by the thud each one made, they were heavy…and Castiel could guess that they were going to have to carry the damn things the entire time.

Dean's professional demeanor somewhat cracked. "….Will you hurry the hell up? I'm not gonna be standin' around here all day, waitin' on you. Bring the tent."

"Hey…Hey," Gordon pointed at him with an accusatory finger. "Shut it."

"Hurry up!"

Moments later, Gordon was throwing the last black backpack off the truck and starting to stick the ground to form a large green tent by himself. It wouldn't be big enough to house all of them, but both Sergeants entered first, gesturing them inside while Dean set up a stand where a large mass of green was shown on a map.

In the middle there was a clear part of white with a large red X. There was another red X on the outskirts of the mass of green. Dean pointed at that part.

"This is where we are…and this…," He pointed at the clearing. "is where your objective is. The item in question is a backpack, not unlike the packs you saw Sergeant Winchester throwing down. You are to retrieve it…bring it back here. Sounds easy. It is easy. This map seems to show it's easy, don't it?"

Yeah, _nothing_ was ever this easy. Castiel had learned that the hard way. Dean nodded to each one of them, then shook his head as though in disagreement.

"No. It will not be easy. We have tested the area ourselves. The time it takes from here to your objective takes approximately three and a half hours. Walking."

Dean walked away from the stand to pace a line as he usually did. "Unfortunately, the jungle will not be your only enemy. Let's play a game we all played as kids. Make-Believe. Pretend that objective is a deceased squadmate that was gunned down by the enemy. Pretend his _pack_ contains vital information regarding your next mission. Pretend this pack…is a level one priority."

It was Sergeant Walker who continued the instruction, stepping forward as Dean lingered in the back with his hands behind his back.

"Sergeant Winchester is right. The jungle isn't your _only_ adversary out there. In this exam, you will face the situation as it would be felt for any other marine. Your enemy is in the treetops. Your enemy…will be looking for you. Your enemy will be _shooting_ you. You will have no choice but to use the environment to your advantage…and I advise all of you to do just that."

"You will have until midnight to complete this task. If for any reason, the task is not completed...," Dean paused, doing a weird..dramatic pause thing as he looked around at them all. "We have a platoon on standby. They'll get the job done. They always do. Since there are exactly twenty-one of you...you will be divided into 7 squads of 3 in each."

"Isn't it better to do 3 squads of 7 in each?"

Dean dropped his professionalism again. "...Goddammit. Will you let me run my unit? The way I wanna run my unit?"

"I think you're running your unit badly." said Gordon, shrugging.

"Well, I think you're _dumb_ ," said Dean, not dignifying Gordon with his gaze as he talked. The platoon held the faintest amusement at their argument, thankful that they were trying to lighten the tension.

Gordon continued. "Your existing resources will be inside of the packs we have laid outside for you. Each of you are assigned one pack. It will come equipped with two flash grenades, spare rounds of ammunition, a spare firearm and water to keep you hydrated. Before we assemble the squads, are there any questions?"

Balthazar raised his hand and Gordon nodded to him. "...So anybody from any squad retrieving the objective and securing it constitutes as a victory?"

"That is correct. But think of it as a race of sorts. Your every action in this field exam is being monitored. Everything you say...every move you make whether you choose to be a team player or not...is on the line. You choose to stay and hide and wait for someone else to compelte the objective? Well, you'll be judged on that too," said Gordon.

"Well...I wasn't planning on doing that...," Balthazar muttered. Castiel pat his shoulder as head went down sheepishly. Then his own hand raised.

"Are the bullets firing at us going to be live rounds?" Castiel asked.

Dean answered him. "No. No live rounds are permitted. For you or the enemy. Rubber bullets. Still hurt. Still a very real incentive to move the hell out of the way when they start firing. You are wearing sufficient padding...but still... Try _not_ to get shot. "

Gordon looked among them. "Any other questions?"

There were none so he nodded to himself. "All right. Everyone get outside. We're about to assemble the squads. Keep in mind, once deployment begins, your exam is officially started. There is a red line we have placed on the ground floor. Once you pass that point, use your make-believe skill and pretend we are not here. We will not help you unless the objective is not completed in time. You are each at a starting level of one hundred. Any action that is considered a hindrance to the mission...will deduct points. For example, turning around after passing over the red line will deduct fifty points. No one wants to finish this mission with only fifty points, do you understand me?"

They all gave their assent and exited the tent. Castiel felt his anxiety peek. He hadn't made it a point to get to know anyone else really in the platoon besides Balthazar. He hoped the other would be in his squad. Once they were outside, Gordon went back to his truck, sitting on the edge of it and reciting different names. Squads were assigned by letter, A-G. The formed squads as they formed the red line seemed to be randomized.

Finally when he got to Squad F, he announced 'Novak', 'Tran' and 'Balthazar' to Castiel's immense relief. His friend remained by his side while another boy with black hair that was a head shorter than him with a smaller build approached the two of them.

"Hey. I'm Kevin. Nice to meet you two."

"You are...tiny," said Balthazar.

"Nice to meet you _too,_ " Castiel elbowed Balthazar again.

Balthazar leaned towards Castiel so only he could hear him. "I really hope they don't deduct points for getting shot by a rubber bullet. He looks like he'll go _flying_ if he gets shot by one."

"Like the Sergeant told us, try not to get shot," Castiel reminded him.

Kevin laughed nervously before nodding towards the red line. " Guess we're good to go. C'mon."

They each picked out a backpack. Castiel hadn't been wrong about it before...it weighed like eighty pounds. He couldn't help but think that in addition to what Sergeant Walker said would be inside...there was also bricks. Bricks or books. His shoulders already protested the added weight and he grunted to adjust himself before approaching the red line with the other two recruits.

Once the final squad was formed and every one was there, Dean lingered in the back behind him.

"Squads will release at ten second intervals. Squad A, you will dispatch first at my order to fall out." The three recruits to his far left each nodded to him in understanding. "Good luck...I have faith in each and every one of you."

Castiel turned, meeting the Sergeant's gaze personally and seeing the warmth in his eyes that instantly lifted some of his anxiety.

"I wouldn't put you up to this if I didn't think you could do it. I know you'll make me proud. You already have...Squad A..."

There was a brief pause as they all seemed to count the seconds. Castiel measured it all in tune with the beat of his heart.

"Fall out."


End file.
